aaxESfe^ 

LIBRIS 


Under  the  Sunset 


EDITED  BY 
WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 

AND 
HENRY   MILLS  ALDEN 


Harper  &  Brothers  Publishers 

New  York  and  London 


Copyright,  1893,  1894,  1895,  1904,  1905,  1906    by 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  nserveJ. 


GRACE   ELLERY  CHANNING 

THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY 

THOMAS    A.    JANVIER 
THE  SAGE-BRUSH  HEN 

ELIA  W.  PEATTIE 

A  MADONNA  OF  THE  DESERT 

MARIE    MANNING 

THE  PROPHETESS   OF   THE  LAND 

OF  NO-SMOKE 

PHILIP  VERRILL  MIGHELS 
A  LITTLE  PIONEER 

ELMORE  ELLIOTT  PEAKE 
BACK  TO  INDIANA 

CHARLES  A.  EASTMAN,  M.D. 
THE  GRA  Y  CHIEFTAIN 

ZOE    DANA    UNDERHILL 

THE  INN  OF  SAN  JACINTO 

MAURICE  KINGSLEY 

TIO  JUAN 

JOSIAH  FLYNT 

JAMIE  THE  KID 


274303 


Introduction 

Undoubtedly  it  was  the  work  of  Bret 
Harte,  bold  in  action,  high  in  color,  and 
simple  in  motive,  which  established  an 
ideal  of  the  Farthest  West  in  literature. 
Europe,  where  he  is  still  better  known 
than  any  other  American  writer,  still 
clings  to  that  ideal;  it  keeps  the  fancy 
of  the  English  as  well  as  the  Germans, 
the  Russians,  and  the  French.  But 
American  art,  to  which  the  West  is  bet 
ter  known  with  its  changes  from  the 
gold-seeking  days  to  those  of  the  settled 
industries,  has  refined  upon  that  ideal. 
Something  vastly  more  complex  speaks 
to  us  from  both  the  hither  and  the 
thither  slopes  of  the  Sierras.  The  plains 
are  conscious  of  their  mysticism;  the 
wild  nature  itself  seeks  a  voice  in  the 
communion  of  savage  man  and  savage 
beast.  The  old  rollicking  humor  finds 
vent  yet  in  temperament  and  incident, 
and  Mr.  Janvier's  heroine  suggests  the 


vi  Introduction 

earlier  heroines  of  the  first  master;  but 
how  far  from  his  are  such  types  as  "  The 
Madonna  of  the  Desert"  and  "The 
Prophetess  of  the  Land  of  No  Smoke!" 
The  delicate  divinations  of  Mrs.  Ellery 
Channing,  the  close,  firm  study  of  Mr. 
Mighels  in  frontier  character,  are  equal 
ly  surprising  cventuations  in  fiction 
dealing  with  life  in  the  region  of  Harte's 
during  and  once  fresh  conventions.  The 
homesickness  aching  through  Mr. 
Peake's  pathetic  story  of  the  returning 
exiles  is  all  as  different  from  the  primal 
strain  of  hilarious  fatalism,  of  melo 
dramatic  incident,  as  it  is  from  the  sad, 
plain  dread  fulness  of  Mr.  Kingsley's 
tragedy,  or  Mrs.  UnderhiU's  round,  old- 
fashioned  supernaturalism;  and  how  re 
mote  in  temperament  is  Mr.  Flynt's  tale 
of  the  boy  tramp  "  beating "  his  way 
back  to  the  States  from  Dr.  Eastman's 
poetic  piece  of  animism  in  "  The  Gray 
Chieftain." 

The  things  are  convincingly  alike  in 
their  several  excellence,  and  in  their 
varying  truth  to  the  farther  and  nearer 
lands  Under  the  Sunset.  They  arc  not 
only  important  now — fine  art,  genuine 
motive,  original  spirit — but  they  are  ex 
tremely  interesting  and  significant  as 
suggestions  of  the  great  work  to  be  done 


Introduction  vii 

in  and  about  a  region  of  America  where 
the  completion  of  the  interoceanic  com 
munications  and  the  drawing  together 
of  East  and  West  seemed  to  paralyze  the 
nascent  consciousness  of  the  Pacific 
shore  in  literature.  Finally,  in  the  im 
mense  geographical  range  of  these  ad 
mirable  stories,  we  have  some  faint  in 
dications  of  the  vastness  as  well  as  the 
richness  of  the  field  they  touch. 

W.  D.  H. 


The  End  of  the  Journey 

BY    GRACE    ELLERY    CHAINING 

THE  train,  a  local,  drew  up  to  the 
primitive  station  with  a  ruder  jolt 
and  a  shrieking  whistle,  and  the 
woman  got  out.  She  stood  a  moment 
on  the  platform,  looking  off  at  the  brown 
and  dusty  landscape, — -it  was  summer 
and  the  land  was  dry, — her  face,  the 
while,  arming  silently  for  an  approach 
ing  ordeal. 

It  had  been  a  finely  modelled  face,  to 
begin  with;  now  it  was  as  finely  scored, 
with  little  lines  here  and  there  about 
the  corners  of  the  eyes  and  lips,  as  if 
the  engraver  Sorrow  had  followed  the 
sculptor  Life. 

She  had  probably  never  been  beautiful, 
but  beautiful  women  would  have  ex 
changed  with  her  for  that  something  else 
which  she  was,  and  discerning  women 
would  have  bartered  their  fine  clothes 
for  her  secret  of  wearing  simple  ones. 
Her  soft,  excellently  brushed  hair  was 


2  v ; :  :     H*  rpef^s  Novelettes 

thinly  veined  with  gray;  her  costume 
was  a  darker  gray;  her  gloves,  fitted  to 
the  long  hands  within,  unfashionably 
dainty.  In  brief,  a  lady,  before  the  word 
was  spoiled.  Equally  unmistakably,  a  lady 
at  odds  with  her  present  errand,  whatever 
that  might  be.  The  patient  restraint 
of  the  fine  rrouth  narrowly  controlled 
a  complete  impatience,  and  the  very  car 
riage  of  her  body  and  the  height  at  which 
she  held  her  head  seemed  in  a  manner 
to  protest  against  some  inner  compulsion, 
— the  distaste  was  visible  through  all  the 
weariness  cf  her  eyes,  gazing  from  the 
brown  hills  to  the  browner  plains  at 
their  feet. 

There  was  no  one  to  meet  her — which 
was  not  surprising,  since  she  knew  no 
one. — and  after  a  moment's  doubtful 
consulting  of  landmarks  she  set  off  down 
a  long  road  opposite  the  station,  lifting 
her  skirt  in  one  hand  to  clear  the  ankle- 
deep  adobe  dust,  while  with  the  finger 
tips  of  the  other  she  held — as  we  hold 
what  we  do  not  hold  willingly — a  small 
package,  elaborately  tied  and  sealed. 

One  house  succeeded  another  at  long 
intervals  filled  with  straggling  orange 
and  lemon  groves.  At  the  eighth  of 
these,  and  fully  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  station,  she  hesitated  a  moment 


The  End  of  the  Journey          3 

before  passing  through  the  opening  in 
the  neglected  cypress  hedge  and  up  the 
narrow  path  towards  the  house,  unpaint- 
ed  and  low,  with. the  wide  Californian 
porch  and  running  vines  which  render 
the  commonplace  of  the  West  so  much 
more  tolerable  than  the  commonplace  of 
the  East.  -' 

It  was  a  spot  not  incapable  of  charm, 
for  there  were  shade-trees  and  growing 
things,  but  the  drought  had  been  at 
work,  and  the  air  of  barren  living  some 
how  diffused  itself  mutely  through  the 
patch  of  drying  vegetables  and  the  shriv 
elled  leaves  of  the  deciduous  growth  to 
the  house  beyond.  Even  the  dustless 
peppers  looked  dusty,  thin,  and  forlorn. 

The  woman  stopped  short  midway  of 
the  path.  Her  lips  twitched  and  a  new 
look  passed  into  her  eyes — keyed  to  si 
lent  endurance.  The  fastidious  distaste 
of  the  moment  before  deepened  into  a 
revolt  of  her  whole  being — a  revolt  of 
race, — smiting  her  to  a  sudden  impulse 
of  sharp  anger,  followed  by  pity  as  sharp. 

"Poor  boy!" — it  was  only  a  muttered 
sound,  but  she  feared  she  had  cried  it 
aloud;  and  closing  her  lips  again  in 
their  habitual  line,  she  went  on  up  the 
path,  with  a  sigh  like  a  suppressed  sob, 
carrying  her  head  an  unconscious  inch 


4  Harper's  Novelettes 

higher  than  before,  her  finger-tips  tight 
ening  their  protesting  clutch. 

Evidently  she  had  been  expected,  for 
a  younger  woman  appeared  at  the  door 
and  came  out  on  the  porch.  For  a  mo 
ment  they  gazed  at  each  other  from  the 
top  and  bottom  of  the  steps  before  the 
elder  woman  spoke. 

"You  are  Mrs.  Hallette?" 
"Yes,  — and    I    expect    you    are    his 
mother?" 

"  I  am  his  mother." 
They  gazed  at  each  other  again. 
"Won't  you  come  up  and  sit  down 2" 
said  the  younger  woman.      She  led   the 
way  into  a  small  room  opening  from  the 
porch    and    pushed    forward   a   chair   to 
the  visitor,  seating  herself  with  a  little 
fling  in  one  opposite. 

^  There  was  something  sullen  in  her 
air — a  mixture  of  defiance,  embarrass 
ment,  and  pride.  Her  heavy,  dark,  pret 
ty  hair— pretty,  though  not  fine— was 
rolled  in  the  Pompadour  mode  of  the 
moment  about  her  heavily  round,  youth 
ful  face.  The  face  was  not  unpretty, 
either,  in  its  softly  massed  contours  and 
clear  coloring.  It  was  not  extremely 
young,  yet  there  was  something  almost 
childlike  about  it,  and  it  had  the  fresh 
vitality  of  a  not  too  nervous  race — the 


The  End  of  the  Journey          5 

look  one  sees  in  the  best  peasant  stock 
of  Europe  or  occasionally  among  our 
backwoods  girls.  Her  curved  body  had 
the  same  vital  attraction;  it  would  bet 
ter  have  become  one  of  the  white-yoked, 
full-sleeved  peasant  costumes  than  it  did 
the  conventional  shirt-waist  and  skirt 
she  wore.  There  was  a  ring  with  a  stone 
above  the  plain  wedding-band  on  her 
brown,  supple,  capable  worker's  hand, 
and  a  prettily  enamelled  watch  at  her 
belt.  The  whole  impression  registered 
itself  in  an  instant  on  the  sensitive  brain 
opposite. 

The  other  had  been  surveying  her 
equally,  with  a  kind  of  fascinated  gaze. 

"  I  should  have  known  you  anywhere 
for  his  mother,"  she  said.  "You  look 
so  like  him." 

"Yes  ?"— the  fine  eyebrows  lifted  a  little. 
"  The  resemblance  is  not  usually  thought 
to  be  so  strong."  It  was  as  if  she  re 
pelled  it,  as  bringing  her  indefinitely 
nearer  to  something  she  shrank  from; 
and  then  becoming  suddenly  aware  of 
that  instinct  in  herself  and  startled  by  it, 
she  spoke  again,  hastily  and  with  extreme 
gentleness.  It  was  not  her  fault  that  the 
very  tones  of  her  voice  seemed  only  to 
accentuate  the  gulf  between  herself  and 
the  other  speaker.  A  voice,  above  all 


6  Harper's  Novelettes 

things,  is  the  gift  of  centuries.  Beautiful 
voices,  it  is  true,  may  be  found  anywhere, 
but  one  kind  of  beautiful  voice  is  the 
product  of  ages  of  gentle  speaking  only. 

"  I  am  the  bearer  of  a  message  from 
— my  son;  he  wished  me  to  give  you 
this," — and  again  it  was  not  her  fault 
that,  her  finger-tips  conveyed  their  protest 
faintly  through  their  very  manner  of 
offering  the  package. 

"  Thank  you, — he  wrote  he'd  send  it," 
said  the  younger  woman,  coloring  slight 
ly.  She  laid  it  unopened  on  her  lap  and 
returned  to  her  fascinated  study  of  the 
woman  opposite. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  kindly  see  that  it  is 
— all  right;  he  sealed  it  himself." 

The  other  colored  again.  "  I  guess  it 
isn't  necessary — if  he  sent  it — and  you 
brought  it." 

The  pathetically  clumsy  intention  of 
the  phrase  did  not  soften  the  face  of 
the  elder  woman;  she  acknowledged  it 
with  a  very  slight  bending  of  the  head. 

"  I  was  also, — he  wished  me  to  bid  you 
good-by." 

The  younger  woman  showed  a  shade 
of  surprise.  "  Won't  he  come  at  all  him 
self,  then?" 

"  You  don't  seem  to  understand  " — the 
low  voice  was  sharp  with  intensity  of 


The  End  of  the  Journey          J 

restrained  feeling — "that  he — has  been 
very  ill!" 

For  the  first  time  the  impassive  lines 
of  the  other's  face  showed  disturbance; 
her  lips  trembled  slightly,  and  she  cast  a 
vaguely  troubled  glance  out  of  eyes  like  a 
frightened  animal's  at  the  elder  woman's, 
which  met  hers  with  a  hard  brightness. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  didn't  know;  I'm 
sorry.  I  thought  he  hadn't  seemed  quite 
himself  for  some  time, — that  maybe  that 
was  why  he  acted  so  strange." 

"'Acted  so  strange!' — (  not  quite  him 
self!'  Don't  you  know — couldn't  you 
see  he  was  frightfully  ill  —  for  —  for 
months?"  The  words  were  jerked  out 
with  terrible  intensity,  between  short, 
controlled  breaths,  but  the  voice  never 
lifted,  and  the  gloved  hands  lay  quiet 
in  the  speaker's  lap. 

In  spite  of  their  implication,  the  wom 
an  at  whom  they  were  directed  did  not 
seem  angered  by  them,  but  only  vaguely 
troubled,  as  before. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  repeated.  "He's 
taken  it  very  hard; — he  don't  seem  to — 
to  have  had  any  experience." 

The  elder  woman  sat  back  suddenly 
in  her  chair,  as  if  something  had  broken 
which  had  heretofore  held  her  upright. 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  a  painfully  quiet 


8  Harper's  Novelettes 

voice ;  "  as  you  say, — he  had  had  no  ex 
perience.  He  thought  the  whole  thing 
was  real." 

To  her  surprise,  the  shaft  went  home. 
The  other  drew  herself  up,  flushing 
crimson, — and  in  so  doing  she  became 
very  handsome. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  I'm  all  to  blame. 
Mothers  always  do.  But  I  was  in  earnest 
too; — I  thought  it  was  all  real.  Those 
things  will  happen,  you  know." 

The  delicate  stone  face  opposite  im 
mutably  denied  any  such  knowledge, 
"Those  things"  happened  sometimes  in 
the  tenements,  she  would  have  told  you; 
not  in  her  world.  But  the  other  went 
on,  oblivious,  warming  into  a  kind  of 
effective  energy. 

"He  took  a  great  deal  for  granted 
from  the  first — but  I  did  care;  he  wasn't 
just  like  any  one  I'd  ever  known;  we 
were  interested  in  the  same  things, — and 
I  thought  at  the  time  I  cared  more  than 
I  did.  Anyway" — she  wound  up  with 
vigor — "he  took  a  great  deal  on  himself 
to  tell  you  about  it." 

The  elder  woman  winced  ever  so 
slightly.  "  I  told  you  he  was  very  ill." 

"And  I  suppose  you  blame  me  for  it 
all?" — the  eyes,  no  longer  like  a  fright 
ened  animal's,  challenged  hers  with  a 


The  End  of  the  Journey          9 

certain  honest  resentment,  and  the  elder 
woman  drew  a  sharp  breath. 

"  I  blame  you  for  your  lack  of  human 
ity, — for  your  unkindness, — for  failing 
him  when  you  had  brought  him  to — to 
such  a  pass.  I  don't  judge  about  the 
rest, — perhaps  you  couldn't  help  it — 
either  of  you;  I  don't  know, — I  don't 
judge, — I  don't  want  to  judge.  But  to 
let  him  hang  on  in  that  miserable  way, — 
not  to  see  that  it  was  ruining  him — not 
to  know — not  to  care — not  to  have  com 
mon  pity, — common  humanity, — after — 
after  that — "  She  broke  off  suddenly, 
lifting  her  head  and  looking  away  from 
the  woman,  her  lips  set  in  one  white  line. 

"I  didn't  understand  he  was  so  bad 
off,"  said  the  other,  almost  humbly,  and 
the  hearer  made  a  dumb  gesture  of  re- 
linquishment.  What  was  the  use  indeed  ? 
She  could  not  understand.  It  was  all 
contained  in  that. 

The  elder  woman  sat  silent. 

"  I  suppose  he  hates  me  now,  too  ?" 

"He  has  never  said  one  word  about 
you  which  was  not  beautiful," — still  in 
that  painfully  quiet  tone.  "  I  told  you, 
— he  believed  the  whole  thing." 

Again  it  was  a  surprise  to  her  when  the 
face  opposite  broke  suddenly  up  into  a 
chaos  of  rudimentary  emotions  and  the 


io  Harper's  Novelettes 

woman  burst  into  tears.  Her  visitor  sur 
veyed  in  apathetic  astonishment.  She 
had  really  cared,  then?  Some  feeling 
did  reside  under  that  envelope  of  sturdy 
well-being1, — that  hide  of  the  spirit? 

The  storm  was  quickly  over.  With  a 
vigorous  touch  the  young  woman  wiped 
away  the  tears,  murmuring  a  word  half 
protest  and  half  apology. 

"  You  wouldn't  understand ; — we  were 
raised  different,  I  expect.  You  wouldn't 
understand." 

The  abrupt  throwing  back  of  her  own 
conclusion  of  a  moment  ago  struck  tht> 
elder  woman.  She  cast  a  sharp  glance 
at  the  face  before  her,  still  quivering 
with  feeling  through  all  its  curious 
settled  submission.  Not  understand! 
What  least  aspect  of  the  whole  tragedy 
was  there  that  she  did  not  understand 
only  too  well,  she  wondered  with  bitter 
ness.  What  other  brain  ached  like  hers 
with  limitless  capacity  for  understanding, 
— for  weighing  to  its  final  atom  every 
wretched  phase  of  the  uncomplex  drama 
and  counting  its  whole  intricate  cost? 
Not  understand! 

"  There's  something  he  left  here — if 
you  don't  mind  taking  it,"  said  the  other, 
still  submissively,  and  the  elder  woman 
made  a  mechanical  gesture  of  assent. 


The  End  of  the  Journey        n 

"  You  wouldn't  understand,"  —  the 
words  continued  to  sound  in  her  ears, 
Tacitly  excusing  had  been  the  woman's 
tone,  in  contrast  to  her  own  uxmttered 
accusation,  but  the  words  rankled  none 
the  less, — perhaps  all  the  more.  She  sat 
there  repeating  numbly  the  irritating 
phrase,  even  while  she  said  to  herself 
that  it  did  not  matter — that  nothing  mat 
tered;  and  her  unseeing  eyes  wandered 
about  the  room,  till  across  their  blank 
field  of  vision  another  iteration  pressed 
home  to  her  brain. 

What  was  so  familiar — so  insistently 
familiar — about  this  room?  She  roused 
herself  keenly  now,  and  found  an  imme 
diate  answer.  Object  after  object  claim 
ed  her, — things  dear,  things  alive,  things 
eloquent,  fragments  of  home,  fragments 
of  her  son's  home,  things  that  were  like 
bits  of  the  boy  himself, — they  were 
everywhere,  and  crying  aloud  after  the 
manner  of  dumb  things. 

She  was  on  her  feet  in  a  moment. 
There  was  the  Madonna  bought  by  the 
boy's  father  when  the  boy  was  born; 
it  had  always  hung  above  his  bed. 
There  was  his  favorite  "  Sleeping  Faun," 
bought  the  year  they  went  abroad  after 
his  triumphal  college  Commencement; 
the  rug  picked  up  in  the  bazars  of  Cairo 


12  Harper's  Novelettes 

was  there.  And  there,  doing  duty  as  a 
paper-weight,  was  the  carved  shepherd 
boy  from  the  Swiss  canton;  little  old 
sketches, — a  Venetian  vase, — the  room 
was  full  of  the  boy!  And  not  only  the 
boy.  She  was  a  woman  of  fetishes — a 
woman  who  had  lost  much — and  to  whom 
her  dead  lived  again  in  their  dumb  pos 
sessions;  she  walked  to  the  bookcase  and 
took  down  book  after  book  with  a  rapid 
hand.  Here  was  his  father's  Kuskin,— 
his  own  favorite  Shelley, — his  Emerson 
(another  gift,  that,  from  father  to  son) ; 
and  here — she  had  not  thought  it  pos 
sible,  even  in  the  pang  of  recognition — 
here,  dim  with  three  generations  of 
handling,  its  priceless  binding  fit  casket 
for  the  treasure  of  the  title-page  within, 
where  the  dedication  to  the  boy's  great 
grandfather,  from  such  a  hand  on  such 
a  glorious  date,  made  in  itself  a  heritage 
of  pride, — here,  dim  crimson  in  its  su 
perb  age,  was  the  family  Plutarch. 
It  had  been  put  in  the  boy's  proud  hands 
by  his  father  as  a  graduation  gift. 

Scarlet  lines  struck  across  her  cheek. 
For  a  moment  she  thought  of  him  not 
as  a  mother  thinks  of  her  son,  but  as  a 
woman  of  race  thinks  of  the  man  who 
betrays  it.  Then  something  carried  her 
indignant  eyes  to  the  shelf  above. 


The  End  of  the  Journey        13 

There  was  a  little  clock  on  it— a  simple, 
homely  thing,  ticking  away  cheerfully. 
That  too  was  his ;  it  had  been  given  him 
to  cheer  the  lagging  hours  of  a  childish 
convalescence,  and  it  had  been  his  fond 
fancy  to  keep  it  with  him  ever  since. 
He  had  carried  it  to  college;  he  had 
taken  it  to  Europe;  he  had  brought  it 
here.  The  mother  stood  looking  and 
looking  at  it,  but  she  did  not  touch  it 
with  her  yearning  fingers;  something 
interposed  between.  Her  face  was 
changed  when  she  turned  away  and  in 
cluded  the  whole  room  once  more  in  her 
lingering  gaze  from  object  to  object.  A 
poor,  bare  little  room — without  these 
things;  a  room  the  poor,  foolish,  but 
magnificently  loving  boy  had  trans 
formed  with  his  treasure,  bringing  it 
where  his  heart  always  was,  seeking  in 
stinctively  to  enclose  this  woman  in  the 
home  to  which  he  dreamed  of  one  day 
bringing  her.  It  invested  his  folly  with 
a  certain  dignity.  At  least  he  had  loved 
as  became  him  and  his  kind,  unsordidly, 
uncalculatingly,  with  a  high  belief  in 
what  he  loved;  and  in  the  wreck  of  his 
youth  there  had  been  something  his 
mother  could  respect. 

She  heard  him  fondly  dwelling  on  the 
qualities  of  mind  and  heart  of  this  worn- 


14  Harper's  Novelettes 

an, — the  thirst  he  ascribed  to  her  for 
books,  pictures,  all  the  adornments  of 
that  life  to  which  he  had  been  born. 
She  had  "never  had  a  gift  till  he  gave 
her  one," — she  lacked  "nothing  but  op 
portunity  to  make  her  his  mother's  in 
tellectual  equal."  And  so — and  so  he 
had  brought  her  the  Plutarch. 

She  was  standing  gazing  at  it  again 
where  she  had  replaced  it  on  the  shelf, 
when  the  other  returned  with  a  little 
package.  Mechanically  she  received  it 
into  her  own  hand;  for  the  first  time 
she  was  observing  that  the  woman's  fore 
head  was  good. 

Meantime  a  wave  of  that  ready  color 
of  hers  had  swept  into  the  younger  wom 
an's  face ;  she  had  caught,  as  she  entered, 
the  other's  focussed  gaze. 

"I  expect,"  she  exclaimed,  and  it  was 
plain  the  shock  of  the  idea  was  new 
to  her,  "you  think  I  ought  to  give  all 
these  back !" 

In  their  turn  her  eyes  made  that  jour 
ney  about  the  room,  but  leaping  with  the 
swiftness  of  familiarity  from  one  dear 
object  to  another.  How  dear  was  easy 
to  be  seen;  it  was  all  a  little  world  of 
delicate  beauty  and  rich  possession  which 
slipped  inch  by  inch  away  from  her  as 
the  dumb  eyes  travelled  on.  The  loss  of 


The  End  of  the  Journey         15 

the  man  had  been  nothing;  this  denuded 
her  universe,  reducing  it  to  the  image 
of  the  barren  garden  outside.  It  de 
nuded  her  life  too;  and  she  had  been 
totally  unprepared, — totally  unforeseeing 
of  it.  Shut  out  by  the  facts  of  her  ex 
istence — daughter  of  workers,  wife  of  a 
worker,  a  worker  herself — from  the  pos 
sibility  of  acquiring  these  things  which 
yet  she  had  the  capacity  to  long  for, 
she  found  herself  brought  face  to  face 
in  a  moment  with  the  old  destitution 
of  her  past.  And  she  was  pathetical 
ly  unprepared. 

So  was  the  other;  she  understood  now 
what  her  son  had  stood  for  in  this  life. 
Heretofore  she  had  seen  it  always  as  an 
unequal  contest  between  the  experienced 
— because  the  married — woman  and  the 
inexperienced,  ardent,  visionary  boy,  the 
child  of  a  long  line  of  dreamers;  now 
the  obverse  revealed  itself, — the  darling 
child  of  fortune,  with  his  immense  in 
herited  advantages  and  luxurious  gifts 
of  intellect,  tempting  the  starved  and 
passionately  appetent  brain  of  labor.  It 
must  have  gone  far  to  equalize  the  con 
test.  With  her  own  pitiless  inheritance 
of  justice  she  acknowledged  it,  and  it 
was  a  pang  the  more.  There  had  not 
been  one  victim,  but  two.  And  if  the 


1 6  Harper's  Novelettes 

boy  had  but  paid  the  price  of  centu 
ries  of  deficit,  the  woman  had  but  as 
helplessly  avenged  her  defrauded  past. 
Her  very  inability  to  respond  to  certain 
finer  ranges  of  sensibilities — what  was 
it  but  part  and  condition  of  that  en 
dured  fraud  ? 

For  her  forehead  was  good  and  her 
eyes  were  hungry. 

"  I  expect,"  she  repeated  (and  perhaps 
it  was  the  merest  chance  that  her  hand, 
trembling  across  the  bookcase,  touched 
one  lingering  moment  the  dim  crimson 
Plutarch),  "I  ought  to  send  them  back?" 

She  raised  two  eyes  full  of  honest, 
suffering  purpose,  but  the  other  turned 
away  from  them,  putting  up  her  hands 
involuntarily  as  if  to  push  away  the 
question — the  question  which  marked  the 
impassable  gulf  between  herself  and  this 
woman  as  nothing  else  could  have  done, 
and  yet,  as  nothing  else  could  have  done, 
either,  drew  her  across  it  with  a  vastness 
of  sudden  human  pity  in  direct  propor 
tion  to  her  own  fierce  sense  of  person 
al  revolt. 

"No — no/'  she  cried;  "that  was  be 
tween  you  /"  Then  added,  "  But  I  know 
that  he  would  say — keep  them!" 

She  turned  again  and  gazed  at  the 
bookshelves  and  the  Plutarch — dimmer 


The  End  of  the  Journey         17 

still  in  its  crimson  binding  the  longer 
she  gazed.  She  forgot  the  room,  the 
woman, — even  for  a  moment  her  son. 
She  was  seeing  once  more,  down  the 
long  reach  of  her  dearly  remembered 
years,  that  gentle,  learned,  aristocratic 
judge.  He  had  been  a  judge  of  men 
as  well,  of  infinite  kindliness,  and  tol 
erant  without  bounds. 

She  did  not  know  how  long  she  stood 
there,  but  she  recalled  herself  with  a 
start,  to  find  that  other  figure  still  be 
side  her  watching  dumbly.  And  never 
in  the  world — that  kindly  judge  of  men 
must  have  smiled  to  see — had  she  looked 
a  greater  lady  than  as  she  turned  to  gaze 
upon  it  kindly  with  an  outstretched  hand. 

"  Good-by." 

The  other  clung  to  it  a  moment. 
"  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  you  for  a  friend !" 
she  exclaimed,  adding,  chokingly,  "  You 
won't  think  hard  of  me?" 

The  elder  woman  shook  her  head, 
loosened  her  hand  gently,  and  without 
another  glance  about  her  went  out  and 
down  the  steps.  The  younger,  in  the 
doorway,  watched  wistfully  till  the  droop 
ing  peppers  hid  the  last  fold  of  the  gray 
gown  and  the  gray  head  carried  high. 

Carried  high, — for  where  had  been  the 
use  of  telling  her  that  the  boy  was  dead  ? 


The  Sage-brush  Hen 

'v 

BY  THOMAS  A.   JANVIER 

SHE  blew  in  one  day  on  HilPs  coach 
from  Santa  Fe — Hill  ran  the  coach 
that  year  the  end  of  the  track  was 
at  Palomitas,  it  being  shorter  going  up 
that  way  to  Pueblo  and  Denver  and  Lead- 
ville  than  round  by  the  Atchisoii  and 
changing  at  El  Moro  to  the  Narrow 
Gaiflgc — and,  being  up  on  the  box  with 
Hill,  she  was  so  all  over  dust  that  Cher 
ry  sung  out  to  him,  "  Where'd  you  get 
your  sage-brush  hen  from?"  And  the 
name  stuck. 

More  folks  in  Palomitas  had  names 
that  had  tumbled  to  'em  like  that  than 
the  kind  that  had  come  regular.  And 
even  when  they  sounded  regular  you 
never  could  be  dead  sure  they  was.  Reg 
ular  names  used  to  get  lost  pretty  often 
coming  across  the  Plains  in  those  days— 
more'n  a  few  finding  it  better,  about  as 
they  got  to  the  Missouri,  to  leave  be 
hind  what  they'd  been  called  by  back 


The  Sage-brush  Hen  19 

East  and  draw  something  new  from  the 
pack.  Making  a  change  like  that  was 
apt  to  be  wholesomer,  and  often  saved  talk. 

Hill  said  the  Hen  was  more  fun  com 
ing  across  from  Santa  Fe  than  a  basket 
ful  of  monkeys;  and  she  was  all  the 
funnier,  he  said,  because  when  he  picked 
her  up  at  the  Fonda  she  looked  like 
as  if  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  her  mouth 
and  started  in  with  her  monkey-shines 
so  sort  of  quiet  and  demure.  Along  with 
her,  waiting  at  the  Fonda,  was  an  old 
gent  with  spectacles  who  turned  out  to 
be  a  mine-sharp — one  of  them  fellows 
the  government  sends  out  to  the  Ter 
ritory  to  write  up  serious  in  books  all 
the  fool  stories  prospectors  and  such  un 
load  on  7em:  the  kind  that  needs  to  be 
led,  and  '11  eat  out  of  your  hand.  The 
Hen  and  the  old  gent  and  Hill  had  the 
box  seat,  the  Hen  in  between;  and  she 
was  that  particular  about  her  skirts 
climbing  up,  and  about  making  room 
after  she  got  there,  that  Hill  said  he 
sized  her  up  himself  for  an  officer's 
wife  going  East. 

Except  to  say  thank  you,  and  talk 
polite  that  way,  she  didn't  open  her  head 
till  they'd  got  clear  of  the  town  and 
were  going  slow  in  that  first  bit  of  bad 
road  among  the  sand-hills;  and  it  was 


20  Harper's  Novelettes 

the  old  gent  speaking  to  her — telling  her 
it  was  a  fine  day,  and  he  hoped  she  liked 
it — that  set  her  stamps  a-going  a  little 
then.  She  allowed  the  weather  was 
about  what  it  ought  to  be,  and  said  she 
was  much  obliged  and  it  suited  her;  and 
then  she  got  her  tongue  in  behind  her 
teeth  again  as  if  she  meant  to  keep  it 
there — till  the  old  gent  took  a  fresh  start 
by  asking  her  if  she'd  been  in  the  Ter 
ritory  long.  She  said  polite  she  hadn't, 
and  was  quiet  for  a  minute.  Then  she 
got  out  her  pocket-handkerchief  and  put 
it  up  to  her  eyes  and  said  she'd  been  in 
it  longer'n  she  wanted,  and  was  glad 
she  was  going  away.  Hill  said  her  talk 
ing  that  way  made  him  feel  kind  of  cu 
rious  himself;  but  he  didn't  have  no 
need  to  ask  questions  —  the  old  gent 
saving  him  that  trouble  by  going  for  her 
sort  of  fatherly  and  pumping  away  at 
her  till  he  got  the  whole  thing. 

It  come  out  scrappy,  like  as  might  be 
expected,  Hill  said;  and  so  natural- 
sounding  he  thought  he  must  be  asleep 
and  dreaming — he  knowing  pretty  well 
what  was  going  011  in  the  Territory,  and 
she  telling  about  doings  that  was  news 
to  him  and  the  kind  he'd  been  sure  to 
hear  a  lot  of  if  they'd  ever  really  come 
off.  Hill  said  he  wished  he  could  tell  it 


The  Sage-brush  Hen  21 

all  as  she  did — speaking  low,  and  ketching 
her  breath  in  the  worst  parts,  and  mop 
ping  at  her  eyes  with  her  pocket- 
handkerchief—but  he  couldn't;  and  all 
he  could  say  about  it  was  it  was  better'n 
any  theatre  show  he'd  ever  seen.  The 
nubs  of  it  was,  he  said,  that  she  said 
her  husband  had  taken  out  a  troop  from 
Fort  Wingate  against  the  Apaches  (Hill 
knew  blame  well  up  there  in  the  Navajo 
country  was  no  place  to  look  for 
Apaches)  and  the  troop  had  been  am 
bushed  in  a  canon  in  the  Zuni  Mountains 
(which  made  the  story  still  tougher)  and 
every  man  of  'em,  along  with  her  "  dear 
Captain,"  as  she  called  him,  had  lost 
his  hair.  "  His  loved  remains  are  where 
those  fierce  creatures  left  them,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  not  even  the  sad  solace  of  prop 
erly  burying  his  precious  bones!"  And 
she  cried. 

The  old  gent  was  quite  broke  up,  Hill 
said,  and  took  a-hold  of  her  hand  father 
ly — she  was  a  powerful  fine-looking  wom 
an — and  said  she  had  his  sympathy;  and 
when  she  eased  up  on  her  crying  so  she 
could  talk  she  said  she  was  much  obliged 
— and  felt  it  all  the  more,  she  said,  be 
cause  he  looked  like  a  young  uncle  of 
hers  who'd  brought  her  up,  her  father 
being  dead,  till  she  was  married  East 


22  Harper's  Novelettes 

to  her  dear  Captain  and  had  come  out 
to  the  Territory  with  him.  to  his  doom. 

Hill  said  it  all  went  so  smooth  ho 
took  it  down  himself  at  first — but  he  got 
his  wind  while  she  was  crying,  and  he 
asked  her  what  her  Captain's  name  was, 
and  what  was  his  regiment ;  telling  her  he 
hadn't  heard  of  any  trouble  up  around 
Wingate,  and  it  was  news  to  him  Apaches 
was  in  those  parts.  She  give  him  a  dig 
in  the  ribs  with  her  elbow — as  much  as 
to  tell  him  he  wasn't  to  ask  no  such 
questions — and  said  back  to  him  her 
dear  husband  was  Captain  Chiswick  of 
the  Twelfth  Cavalry;  and  it  had  been  a 
big  come-down  for  him,  she  said,  when 
he  got  his  commission  in  the  Regulars, 
after  he'd  been  a  Volunteer  brigadier- 
general  in  the  war. 

Hill  knew  right  enough  there  wasn't 
no  Twelfth  Cavalry  nowhere,  and  he 
knew  the  boys  at  Wingate  were  A  and 
F  troops  of  the  Fourth;  but  he  ketched 
on  to  the  way  she  was  giving  it  to  the 
old  gent — and  so  Tie  give  her  a  dig  in 
the  ribs,  and  said  he'd  known  Captain 
Chiswick  intimate,  and  he  was  as  good 
a  fellow  as  ever  was,  and  it  was  a  blame 
pity  he  was  killed.  She  give  him  a  dig 
back  again,  at  that — and  was  less  par 
ticular  about  making  room  on  his  side. 


The  Sage-brash  Hen  23 

The  old  gent  took  it  all  in,  just  as 
it  come  along;  and  after  she'd  finished 
up  about  the  Apaches  killing  her  dear 
Captain  he  wanted  to  know  where  she 
was  heading  for — "because  if  she  was 
going  home  East,  he  said,  he  was  go 
ing  East  himself  and  could  give  her  a 
father's  care. 

She  said  back  to  him,  pleasant-like, 
that  a  young  man  like  him  couldn't  well 
be  fathering  an  old  lady  like  her,  though 
it  was  obliging  of  him  to  offer ;  but,  any 
way,  she  wasn't  going  straight  back  East, 
because  she  had  to  wait  a  while  at  Palo- 
mitas  for  a  remittance  she  was  expecting 
to  pay  her  way  through — and  she  wasn't 
any  too  sure  about  it,  she  said,  whether 
she'd  get  her  remittance;  or,  if  she  did 
get  it,  when  it  would  come.  Everything 
bad  always  got  down  on  you  at  once, 
she  said;  and  just  as  the  cruel  savages 
had  slain  her  dear  Captain  along  come 
the  news  the  bank  East  he'd  put  his 
money  in  had  broke  the  worst  kind.  Her 
financial  difficulties  wasn't  a  patch  on 
the  trouble  her  sorrowing  heart  was  giv 
ing  her,  she  said;  but  she  allowed  they 
added  what  she  called  pangs  of  bitter 
ness  to  her  deeper  pain. 

The  old  gent — he  wasn't  a  fool  clean 
through — asked  her  what  was  the  mat- 


24  Harper's  Novelettes 

ter  with  her  government  transportation; 
she  having  a  right  to  transportation,  be 
ing  an  officer's  widow  going  home.  Hill 
said  he  gave  her  a  nudge  at  that,  as  much 
as  to  say  the  old  gent  had  her.  She 
didn't  faze  a  bit,  though.  It  was  her 
government  transportation  she  was  wait 
ing  for,  she  cracked  back  to  him  smooth 
and  natural;  but  such  things  had  to  go 
all  the  way  to  Washington  to  be  settled, 
she  said,  and  then  come  West  again — 
Hill  said  he  'most  snickered  out  at  that— 
and  she'd  known  cases  when  red  tape  had 
got  in  the  way  and  transportation  hadn't 
been  allowed  at  all.  Then  she  sighed 
terrible,  and  said  it  might  be  a  long, 
long  while  before  she  could  get  home 
again  to  her  little  boy— who  was  all  there 
was  left  her  in  the  world.  Her  little 
Willy  was  being  took  care  of  by  his 
grandmother,  she  said,  and  he  was  just 
his  father's  own  handsome  self  over  again 
— and  she  got  out  her  pocket-handker 
chief  and  jammed  it  up  to  her  eyes. 

Her  left  hand  was  lying  in  her  lap, 
sort  of  casual,  and  the  old  gent  got  a-hold 
of  it  and  said  he  didn't  know  how  to  tell 
her  how  sorry  he  was  for  her.  Talking 
from  behind  her  pocket-handkerchief,  she 
said  such  sympathy  was  precious;  and 
then  she  went  on,  kind  of  pitiful,  saying 


The  Sage-brush  Hen  25 

she  s'posed  her  little  Willy'd  have  forgot 
all  about  her  before  she'd  get  back  to  him 
— and  she  cried  some  more.  Hill  said 
she  did  it  so  well  he  was  half  took 
in  himself  for  a  minute,  and  felt  so 
bad  he  went  to  licking  and  swearing  at 
his  mules. 

After  a  while  she  took  a  brace — get 
ting  down  her  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
calling  in  the  hand  the  old  gent  was 
a-holding — and  said  she  must  be  brave, 
like  her  dear  Captain  'd  always  been,  so 
he'd  see  when  he  was  a-looking  at  her 
from  heaven  she  was  doing  the  square 
thing.  And  as  to  having  to  wait  around 
before  she  went  East,  she  said,  in  one 
way  it  didn't  make  any  matter — seeing 
she'd  be  well  cared  for  and  comfortable 
at  Palomitas  staying  in  the  house  of  the 
Baptist  minister,  who'd  married  her  aunt. 

Hill  said  when  she  went  to  talking 
about  Baptist  ministers  and  aunts  in 
Palomitas  he  shook  so  laughing  inside 
he  'most  fell  off  the  box.  Except  the 
Mexican  padre  who  belonged  there — the 
one  that  made  a  record,  and  Bishop 
Lamy  had  to  bounce — and  sometimes  the 
French  one  from  San  Juan,  who  was  a 
good  fellow  and  hadn't  a  fly  on  him 
anywhere,  there  wasn't  a  fire-escape  ever 
showed  himself  in  Palomitas;  and  as 

3 


26  Harper's  Novelettes 

to  the  ladies  of  the  town — well,  the  ladles 
wasn't  just  what  you'd  call  the  aunt 
kind.  It's  a  cold  fact  that  that  year 
when  the  end  of  the  track  stuck  there 
Palomitas  was  about  the  cussedest  town 
there  was  in  the  whole  Territory — and 
so  it  was  no  more'n  natural  Hill  should 
pretty  near  bust  himself  trying  to  hold 
in  his  laughing  when  the  Hen  took 
to  talking  so  offhand  about  Palomitas 
and  Baptist  ministers  and  aunts.  She 
felt  how  he  was  shaking,  and  jammed 
him  hard  with  her  elbow  to  keep  him 
from  letting  his  laugh  out  and  giving 
her  away. 

Hill  said  they'd  got  along  to  Pojuaque 
by  the  time  the  Hen  had  finished  telling 
about  herself,  and  the  fix  she  was  in 
because  she  had  to  wait  along  with  her 
aunt  in  Palomitas  till  her  transporta 
tion  come  from  Washington — and  she 
just  sick  to  get  East  and  grab  her  little 
Willy  in  her  arms.  And  the  old  gent 
was  that  interested  in  it  all,  Hill  said, 
it  was  a  sight  to  see  how  he  went  on. 

At  Pojuaque  the  coach  always  made 
a  noon  stop,  and  the  team  was  changed 
and  the  passengers  eat  lunch  at  old  man 
Bouquet's.  lie  was  a  Frenchman,  old 
man  Bouquet  was;  but  he'd  been  in  the 
Territory  from  'way  back,  and  he'd  got 


The  Sage-brush  Hen  27 

a  nice  garden  round  his  house  and  fixed 
things  up  French  style.  His  strongest 
hold  was  his  wine-making.  He  made  a 
first-class  drink,  as  drinks  of  that  sort 
go ;  and,  for  its  kind,  it  was  pre.tty  strong. 
As  his  cooking  was  first  class  too,  Hill's 
passengers  —  and  the  other  folks  that 
stopped  for  grub  there — always  wanted 
to  make  a  good  long  halt. 

The  old  gent,  Hill  said,  knew  how  to 
talk  French,  and  that  made  old  man 
Bouquet  extra  obliging— and  he  set  up 
a  rattling  good  lunch  and  fetched  out 
some  of  the  wine  he  said  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  keeping  for  himself,  seeing  he'd 
got  somebody  in  the  house  for  once  who 
really  knew  the  difference  between  good 
and  bad.  He  fixed  up  a  table  out  in  the 
garden — where  he'd  a  queer  tree,  all 
growed  together,  he  thought  a  heap  of— 
and  set  down  with  'em  himself;  and  Hill 
said  it  was  one  of  the  pleasantest  lunches 
he'd  eat  in  all  his  life. 

The  Hen  and  the  old  gent  got  friend 
lier  and  friendlier — she  being  more  cheer 
ful  when  she'd  been  lunching  a  while, 
and  getting  to  talking  so  comical  she 
kept  'em  all  on  a  full  laugh.  Now  and 
then,  though,  she'd  pull  up  sudden  and 
kind  of  back  away — making  out  she  did 
n't  want  it  to  show  so  much — and  get 


28  Harper's  Novelettes 

her  pocket-handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and 
snuffle;  and  then  she'd  pull  herself  to 
gether  sort  of  conspicuous,  and  say  she 
didn't  want  to  spoil  the  party,  but  she 
couldn't  help  thinking  how  long  it  was 
likely  to  be  before  she'd  see  her  little 
hoy.  And  then  the  old  gent  would  say 
that  such  tender  motherliness  did  her 
credit,  and  hers  was  a  sweet  nature,  and 
he'd  hold  her  hand  till  she  took  it  away. 

Hill  said  the  time  passed  so  pleasant 
he  forgot  how  it  was  going,  and  when  he 
happened  to  think  to  look  at  his  watch 
he  found  he'd  have  to  everlastingly  hustle 
his  mules  to  get  over  to  Palomitas  in 
time  to  ketch  the  Denver  train.  He  went 
off  in  a  tearing  hurry  to  hitch  up,  and 
old  man  Bouquet  went  along  to  help 
him — the  old  gent  saying  he  guessed  he 
and  Mrs.  Chiswick  would  stay  setting 
where  they  was,  it  being  cool  and  com 
fortable  in  the  garden,  till  the  team  was 
put  to.  They  set  so  solid,  Hill  said,  they 
didn't  hear  him  when  he  sung  out  to  'em 
he  was  ready;  and  he  said  he  let  his 
mouth  go  wide  open  and  yelled  like  h — 11. 
(Hill  always  talked  that  careless  way. 
He  didn't  mean  no  harm  by  it.  He  said 
it  was  just  a  habit  he'd  got  into  driving 
mules.)  They  not  coming,  he  went  to 
hurry  'em,  he  said— and  as  he  come  up 


The  Sage-brtfsh  Hen  29 

behind  'em  the  Hen  was  stuffing  some 
thing  into  her  frock,  and  the  old  gent 
was  saying :  "  I  want  you  to  get  quickly 
to  your  dear  infant,  my  daughter.  You 
can  return  at  your  convenience  my 
trifling  loan.  And  now  I  will  give  you 
a  fatherly  kiss — " 

But  he  didn't,  Hill  said — because  the 
Hen  heard  Hill's  boots  on  the  gravel  and 
faced  round  so  quick  she  spoiled  his 
chance.  He  seemed  a  little  jolted,  Hill 
said ;  but  the  Hen  was  so  cool,  and  talked 
so  pleasant  and  natural  about  the  good 
lunch  they'd  been  having,  and  what  a 
fine  afternoon  it  was,  he  braced  up  and 
got  to  talking  easy  too. 

Then  they  all  broke  for  the  coach,  and 
got  away  across  the  Tesuque  River  and 
on  through  the  sand-hills — with  Hill  cut 
ting  away  at  his  mules  and  using  words 
to  7em  fit  to  blister  their  hides,  and  when 
they  fetched  the  Canada  they  were  about 
up  again  to  schedule  time.  After  the 
Mexican  who  kept  the  Santa  Cruz  post- 
office  had  made  the  mess  he  always  did 
with  the  mail  matter,  and  had  got  the 
cussing  he  always  got  from  Hill,  they 
started  off  again — coming  slow  through 
that  bit  of  extra-heavy  road  along  by  the 
Rio  Grande,  but  getting  to  the  deepo  at 
Palomitas  to  ketch  the  Denver  train. 


30  Harper's  Novelettes 

All  the  way  over  from  Pojuaque,  Hill 
said,  lie  could  see  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eye  the  old  gent  was  nudging  up  to 
the  Hen  with  his  shoulder,  friendly  and 
sociable;  and  he  said  he  noticed  the  Hen 
was  a  good  deal  less  particular  about 
making  room.  The  old  gent  flushed  up 
and  got  into  a  regular  temper,  Hill  said, 
when  Cherry  sung  out  as  they  pulled 
into  the  deepo  platform,  "  Where'd  you 
get  your  sage-brush  hen  from?" — and 
that  way  give  her  what  stuck  fast  for 
her  name. 

As  it  turned  out,  they  might  have  kept 
on  lunching  as  long  as  they'd  a  mind  to 
at  Pojuaque;  and  Hill  might  have  let 
his  mules  take  it  easy,  without  tiring 
himself  swearing  at  'em,  on  a  dead  walk 
— there  being  a  washout  in  the  Comanche 
Canon,  up  above  the  Embudo,  that  held 
the  train.  It  wasn't  much  of  a  washout, 
the  conductor  said;  but  he  said  he  guess 
ed  all  hands  would  be  more  comfortable 
waiting  at  Palomitas,  where  there  were 
things  doing,  than  they  would  be  setting 
still  in  the  canon  while  the  track  gang 
finished  their  job — and  he  said  he  reck 
oned  the  train  wouldn't  start  for  about 
three  hours. 

The  Hen  and  the  old  gent  was  standing 
on  the  deepo  platform,  where  they'd  land- 


The  Sage-brush  Hen  31 

ed  from  the  coach;  and  Hill  said  as  he 
was  taking  his  mails  across  to  the  express- 
car  he  heard  him  asking  her  once  more 
if  she  hadn't  better  come  right  along 
East  to  her  lonely  babe;  and  promising 
to  take  a  father's  care  of  her  all  the  way. 
The  Hen  seemed  to  be  in  two  minds 
about  it  for  a  minute,  Hill  said ;  and  then 
she  thanked  him,  sweet  as  sugar,  for  his 
goodness  to  her  in  her  time  of  trouble; 
and  told  him  it  would  be  a  real  comfort 
to  go  East  with  such  a  kind  escort  to 
take  care  of  her — but  she  said  it  wouldn't 
work,  because  she  was  expected  in  Palo- 
mitas,  and  not  stopping  there  would  be 
disappointing  to  her  dear  uncle  and  aunt. 

Tt  was  after  sundown,  and  getting 
duskish,  while  they  were  talking;  and  she 
said  she  must  be  getting  along.  The  old 
gent  said  he'd  like  to  go  with  her;  but 
she  said  he  mustn't  think  of  it,  as  it  was 
only  a  step  to  the  parsonage  and  she 
knew  the  way.  While  he  was  keeping  011 
telling  her  she  really  must  let  him  see 
her  safe  with  her  relatives,  up  come  Santa 
Fe  Charley  —  and  Charley  sung  out: 
"Hello,  old  girl, — so  you've  got  here!  I 
was  looking  for  you  on  the  coach,  and  I 
thought  you  hadn't  come." 

Hill  said  he  began  to  shake  with  laugh 
ing,  as  he  was  sure  it  would  be  a  dead 


32  Harper's  Novelettes 

give-away  for  her — Santa  Fe  being  the 
dealer  at  the  Forest  Queen,  and  about 
the  toughest  tough  there  was  in  town. 
Charley  didn't  look  tough,  though.  He 
always  dressed  toney,  all  in  black,  with 
a  long  frock  coat  and  a  black  felt  hat 
— so  he  looked  like  he'd  just  come  off 
Fifth  Avenue — and  a  white  tie.  It  helped 
him  in  his  business,  sometimes,  dressing 
that  way. 

Hill  said  the  Hen  give  a  little  jump 
when  he  sung  out  to  her,  but  she  didn't 
turn  a  hair.  "  Dear  Uncle  Charley,  I  am 
so  glad  to  see  you!"  she  said — and  went 
right  on,  speaking  to  the  old  gent :  "  This 
is  my  uncle,  the  Baptist  minister,  sir, 
come  to  take  me  to  the  parsonage  to  my 
dear  aunt.  It's  almost  funny  to  have 
so  young  an  uncle.  Aunt's  young  too — 
you  see,  grandfather  married  a  second 
time.  We're  more  like  sister  and  brother 
— being  so  near  of  an  age;  and  he  always 
will  talk  to  me  free  and  easy,  like  he 
always  did — though  I  tell  him  now  he's 
a  minister  it  don't  sound  well."  And  then 
she  whipped  round  to  Charley,  so  quick 
he  hadn't  time  to  get  a  word  in  edge 
wise,  and  said  to  him:  "I  hope  Aunt 
Jane's  well,  and  didn't  have  to  go  up  to 
Denver — as  she  said  she  might  in  her 
last  letter — to  look  after  Cousin  Mary. 


The  Sage-brash  Hen  33 

And  I  do  hope  you've  finished  the  paint 
ing  she  said  was  going  on  at  the  parson 
age — so  you  can  take  me  in  there  till  my 
transportation  comes  and  I  can  start 
East.  This  kind  gentleman,  who's  going 
up  on  to-night's  train,  has  been  offering — 
and  it's  just  as  good  of  him,  even  if  I 
can't  go — to  escort  me  home  to  my  dear 
baby;  and  he's  been  just  full  of  sympa 
thy  over  my  dear  husband  Captain  Chis- 
wick's  loss." 

Hill  said  he  never  knew  anybody  take 
cards  as  quick  as  Santa  Fe  took  the  cards 
the  Hen  was  giving  him.  "  I'm  very 
happy  to  meet  you,  sir,"  he  said  to  the 
old  gent ;  "  and  most  grateful  to  you  for 
your  kindness  to  my  poor  niece  Rachel 
in  her  distress.  We  have  been  sorrowing 
over  her  during  Captain  Chiswick's  long 
and  painful  illness — " 

"  My  dear  Captain  had  been  sick  for 
three  months,  and  got  out  of  his  bed  to 
go  and  be  killed  with  his  men  by  those 
dreadful  Apaches,"  the  Hen  cut  in. 

"  — and  when  the  news  came  of  the 
massacre,"  Charley  went  right  on,  as  cool 
as  an  iced  drink,  "  our  hearts  almost 
broke  for  her.  Captain  Chiswick  was  a 
splendid  gentleman,  sir;  one  of  the  finest 
officers  ever  sent  out  to  this  Territory. 
His  loss  is  a  bad  thing  for  the  Service; 


34  Harper's  Novelettes 

but  it  is  a  worse  thing  for  my  poor  niece 
—left  forsaken  with  her  sweet  babes. 
They  are  noble  children,  sir;  worthy  of 
their  noble  sire!" 

"Oh,  Uncle  Charley!"  said  the  Hen. 
"  Didn't  you  get  my  letter  telling  you  my 
little  Jane  died  of  croup?  I've  only 
my  little  Willy,  now!"  And  she  kind 
of  gagged. 

"  My  poor  child !  My  poor  child !"  said 
Santa  Fe.  "  I  did  not  know  that  death 
had  winged  a  double  dart  at  you  like 
that — your  letter  never  came."  And  then 
he  said  to  the  old  gent :  "  The  mail  service 
in  this  Territory,  sir,  is  just  about  as  bad 
as  it  can  be.  The  government  ought  to 
be  ashamed!" 

Hill  said  while  they  was  giving  it 
and  taking  it  that  way  he  'most  choked 
— particular  as  the  old  gent  took  it  all 
down  whole. 

Hill  said  the  three  of  'em  was  sort  of 
quiet  and  sorrowful  for  a  minute,  and 
then  Santa  Fe  said:  "It  is  too  bad, 
Rachel,  but  your  aunt  Jane  did  have  to 
go  up  to  Denver  yesterday — a  despatch 
came  saying  Cousin  Mary's  taken  worse. 
And  the  parsonage  is  in  such  a  mess  still 
with  the  painters  that  I've  moved  over 
to  the  Forest  Queen  Hotel.  But  you  can 
come  there  too — it's  kept  by  an  officer's 


The  Sage-brush  Hen  3$ 

widow,  you  know,  and  is  most  quiet  and 
respectable — and  you'll  be  'most  as  com 
fortable  waiting  there  till  your  trans 
portation  comes  along  as  you  would  be 
if  I  could  take  you  home." 

Hill  said  hearing  the  Forest  Queen 
talked  about  as  quiet  and  respectable,  and 
old  Tenderfoot  Sal,  who  kept  it,  called 
an  officer's  widow,  so  set  him  to  shaking 
he  had  to  get  to  where  there  was  a  keg 
of  railroad  spikes  and  set  down  on  it 
and  hold  his  sides  with  both  hands. 

Santa  Fe  turned  to  the  old  gent,  Hill 
said—  talking  as  polite  as  a  Pullman  con 
ductor — and  told  him  since  he'd  been  so 
kind  to  his  unhappy  niece  he  hoped  he'd 
come  along  with  'em  to  the  hotel  too — 
where  he'd  be  more  comfortable,  Santa 
Fe  said,  getting  something  to  eat  and 
drink  than  he  would  be  kicking  around 
the  deepo  waiting  till  they'd  filled  in  the 
washout  and  the  train  could  start. 

Hill  said  the  Hen  gave  Santa  Fe  n 
queer  sort  of  look  at  that,  as  much  as 
to  ask  him  if  he  was  dead  sure  he  had 
the  cards  for  that  lead.  Santa  Fe  gave 
her  a  look  back  again,  as  much  as  to  say 
he  knew  what  was  and  what  wasn't  on 
the  table;  and  then  he  went  on  to  the 
old  gent,  speaking  pleasant,  telling  him 
likely  it  might  be  a  little  bit  noisy  over 


36  Harper's  Novelettes 

at  the  hotel — doing  her  best,  he  said, 
Mrs.  Major  Kogers  couldn't  help  having 
noise  sometimes,  things  being  so  rough 
and  tumble  out  there  on  the  frontier; 
but  he  had  a  private  room  for  his  study, 
where  he  wrote  his  sermons,  he  said,  and 
got  into  it  by  a  side  door — and  so  he 
guessed  things  wouldn't  be  too  bad. 

That  seemed  to  make  the  Hen  easy, 
Hill  said ;  and  away  the  three  of  'em  went 
together  to  the  Forest  Queen.  Hill  knew 
it  was  straight  enough  about  the  private 
room  and  the  side  door — Santa  Fe  had 
it  to  do  business  in  for  himself,  on  the 
quiet,  when  he  didn't  have  to  deal;  and 
Hill  'd  known  of  a  good  many  folks  who'd 
gone  in  that  private  room  by  that  side 
door  and  hadn't  come  out  again  till  Santa 
Fe'd  scooped  their  pile.  But  it  wasn't 
no  business  of  his,  he  said;  and  he  said 
he  was  glad  to  get  shut  of  'em  so  he  might 
get  the  chance  to  let  out  the  laughing 
that  fairly  was  hurting  his  insides. 

As  they  were  going  away  from  the 
deepo,  Hill  said,  he  heard  Santa  Fe  tell 
ing  the  old  gent  he  was  sorry  it  was  get 
ting  so  dark — as  he'd  like  to  take  him 
round  go  he  could  see  the  parsonage,  and 
the  new  church  they'd  just  finished  build 
ing  and  was  going  to  put  an  organ  in 
as  soon  as  they'd  raised  more  funds;  but 


The  Sage-brush  Hen  37 

it  wasn't  worth  while  going  out  of  their 
way,  he  said,  because  they  wouldn't  show 
to  no  sort  advantage  with  the  light  so 
bad.  As  the  only  church  in  Palomitas 
was  the  Mexican  mud  one  about  two 
hundred  years  old,  and  as  the  nearest 
thing  to  a  parsonage  was  the  padre's 
house  that  Denver  Jones  had  rented  and 
had  his  faro-bank  in,  Hill  said  he  guessed 
Charley  acted  sensible  in  not  trying  to 
show  the  old  gent  around  that  part  of 
the  town. 

Hill  said  after  he'd  got  his  supper  ho 
thought  he'd  come  down  to  the  deepo  and 
sort  of  wait  around  there;  on  the  chance 
he'd  ketch  on — when  the  old  gent  come 
over  to  the  train — to  what  Santa  Fe  and 
the  Hen  'd  been  putting  upon  him.  Suro 
enough,  he  did. 

Along  about  ten  o'clock  a  starting  order 
come  down  to  the  agent — the  track  gang 
by  that  time  having  the  washout  so  near 
fixed  it  would  be  fit  by  the  time  the  train 
got  there  to  go  across — and  the  agent 
sent  word  over  to  the  Forest  Queen  to 
the  old  gent,  who  was  the  only  Pullman 
passenger,  he'd  better  be  coming  along. 

In  five  minutes  or  so  he  showed  up. 
He  wasn't  in  the  best  shape,  Hill  said, 
and  Santa  Fe  and  the  Hen  each  of  'em 
was  giving  him  an  arm;  though  what  he 


3  8  Harper's  Novelettes 

seemed  to  need  morc'n  arms,  Hill  said, 
was  legs — the  ones  he  had  not  being  in 
first-class  order  and  working  bad.  But  he 
didn't  make  no  exhibition  of  himself, 
and  talked  right  enough — only  that  ho 
spoke  sort  of  short  and  scrappy — and  the 
three  of  'em  was  as  friendly  together  as 
friendly  could  be.  Hill  said  he  didn't 
think  it  was  any  hurt  to  listen,  things 
being  the  way  they  were,  and  he  edged 
up  close  to  'em — while  they  stood  waiting 
for  the  porter  to  light  up  the  Pullman— 
and  though  he  couldn't  quite  make  sense 
of  all  they  was  saying  he  did  get  on  to 
enough  of  it  to  size  up  pretty  close  how 
they'd  put  the  old  gent  through. 

"Although  it  is  for  my  struggling 
church,  a  weak  blade  of  grass  in  the 
desert,"  Santa  Fe  was  saying  when  Hill 
got  the  range  of  'em,  "  I  cannot  but  re 
gret  having  taken  from  you  your  splen 
did  contribution  to  our  parish  fund  in 
so  unusual,  I  might  almost  say  in  so  un 
seemly  a  way.  That  I  have  returned  to 
you  a  sufficient  sum  to  enable  you  to 
prosecute  your  journey  to  its  conclusion 
places  you  under  no  obligation  to  me. 
Indeed,  I  could  not  have  done  less — 
considering  the  very  liberal  loan  that  you 
have  made  to  my  poor  niece  to  enable 
her  to  return  quickly  to  her  helpless  babe* 


The  Sage-brush  Hen  39 

As  I  hardly  need  tell  you,  that  loan  will 
be  returned  promptly — as  soon  as  Mrs. 
Captain  Chiswick  gets  East  and  is  able 
to  disentangle  her  affairs." 

"Indeed  it  will,"  the  Hen  put  in. 
"  My  generous  benefactor  shall  be  squared 
with  if  I  have  to  sell  my  clothes !" 

"  Mustn't  think  of  such  a  thing.  Catch 
cold,"  the  old  gent  said.  "  Pleasure's  all 
mine  to  assist  such  a  noble  woman  in 
her  unmerited  distress.  And  now  I  shall 
have  happiness,  and  same  time  sorrow, 
to  give  her  fatherly  kiss  for  farewell." 

The  Hen  edged  away  a  little,  Hill  said, 
and  Santa  Fe  shortened  his  grip  a  little 
on  the  old  gent's  arm — so  his  fatherly 
kissing  missed  fire.  But  he  didn't  seem 
to  notice,  and  said  to  Santa  Fe :  "  Never 
knew  a  minister  know  cards  like  you. 
Wonderful!  And  wonderful  luck  what 
you  held.  Played  cards  a  good  deal  my 
self.  Never  could  play  like  you !" 

Santa  Fe  steadied  the  old  gent,  Hill 
said,  and  said  to  him  in  a  kind  of  ex 
plaining  way:  "As  I  told  you,  my  dear 
sir,  in  my  wild  college  days— before  I 
got  light  on  my  sinful  path  and  headed 
for  the  ministry — I  was  reckoned  some 
thing  out  of  the  common  as  a  card- 
player,  and  what  tho  profane  call  luck 
used  to  be  with  me  all  the  time.  Of 


40  Harper's  Novelettes 

course,  since  I  humbly — but,  I  trust,  help 
fully — took  to  being  a  worker  in  the  vine 
yard,  I  have  not  touched  those  devil's 
picture-books;  nor  should  I  have  touched 
them  to-night  but  for  my  hope  that  a 
little  game  would  help  to  while  away 
your  time  of  tedious  waiting.  As  for 
playing  for  money,  that  would  have  been 
quite  impossible  if  it  had  not  been  for 
my  niece's  suggestion  that  my  winnings 
— in  case  such  came  to  me — should  be 
added  to  our  meagre  parish  fund.  I 
trust  that  I  have  not  done  wrong  in 
yielding  to  my  impulse.  At  least  I  have 
to  sustain  me  the  knowledge  that  if  you, 
my  dear  sir,  are  somewhat  the  worse, 
my  impoverished  church  is  much  the 
better  for  our  friendly  game  of  chance." 

Hill  said  hearing  Santa  Fe  Charley 
talking  about  chance  in  any  game  where 
he  had  the  dealing  was  so  funny  it  was 
better'n  going  to  the  circus.  But  the  old 
gent  took  it  right  enough — and  the  Hen 
added  on:  "Yes,  Uncle  Charley  can  get 
the  organ  he's  been  wanting  so  badly  for 
his  church,  now.  And  I'm  sure  we'll  all 
think  of  how  we  owe  its  sweet  music  to 
you  every  time  we  hear  it  played !" — and 
she  edged  up  to  him  again,  so  he  could 
hold  her  hand.  "  It  must  make  you  very, 
very  happy,  sir,"  she  kept  on,  speaking 


The  Sage-brash  Hen  41 

kind  of  low  and  gentle,  but  not  coming 
as  close  as  he  wanted  her,  "  to  go  about 
the  world  doing  such  generous-hearted 
good  deeds!  I'm  sure  I'd  like  to  thank 
you  enough — only  there  isn't  any  fit  words 
to  thank  you  in — for  your  noble-hearted 
generous  goodness  to  me!" 

The  old  gent  hauled  away  on  her  hand, 
Hill  said,  trying  to  get  her  closer,  and 
said  back  to  her :  "  Words  quite  unneces 
sary.  Old  man's  heart  filled  with  pleas 
ure  obliging  such  dear  child.  Never  mind 
about  words.  Accept  old  man's  fatherly 
kiss,  like  daughter,  for  good-by." 

But  he  missed  it  that  time  too,  Hill 
said — and  Hill  said,  speaking  in  his  care 
less  cuss-word  way,  it  was  pretty  d — n 
rough  on  him  what  poor  luck  in  fatherly 
kisses  he  seemed  to  have — because  just 
then  the  train-conductor  swung  his  lan 
tern  and  sung  out,  "  All  aboard !" 

That  ended  things.  Before  the  old 
gent  knew  what  had  got  him,  Santa  Pe 
and  the  Hen  had  boosted  him  up  the  steps 
on  to  the  platform  of  the  Pullman — 
where  the  Pullman  conductor  got  a  grip 
on  him  just  in  time  to  save  him  from 
spilling — and  then  the  train  pulled  out: 
with  the  Pullman  conductor  keeping  him 
steady,  and  he  throwing  back  good-by 
kisses  to  the  Hen  with  both  hands. 


42  Harper's  Novelettes 

Hill  said  the  Hen  and  Santa  Fe  kept 
quiet  till  the  hind  lights  showed  beyond 
the  end  of  the  deepo  platform:  and  then 
the  Hen  grabbed  Santa  Fe  round  the 
neck  and  just  hung  on  to  him — so  full 
of  laugh  she  was  limp — while  they  both 
roared.  And  Hill  said  he  roared  too.  It 
was  the  most  comical  bit  of  business,  he 
said,  he'd  tumbled  to  in  all  his  bom  days ! 

It  wasn't  until  the  train  got  clear 
round  the  curve  above  the  station,  Hill 
said,  that  Charley  and  the  Hen  could 
pull  'emselves  together  so  they  could  talk. 
Then  the  Hen  let  a-go  of  Santa  Fe's 
neck  and  said  comical — speaking  kind  of 
precise  and  toncy,  like  as  if  she  was  an 
officer's  wife  sure  enough :  "  You'd  better 
return  to  your  study,  dear  Uncle  Charles, 
and  finish  writing  that  sermon  you  said 
we'd  interrupt  you  in  about  caring  for 
the  sheep  as  well  as  the  lambs !" 

And  then  they  went  off  together  yell 
ing,  Hill  said,  over  to  the  Forest  Queen. 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert 

BY  ELIA  W.  PEATTIE 

THE  "Dancers"  trip  it  for  twenty 
miles  along  the  Mojave  Desert- 
grotesque  forms  in  red  lava  rock, 
fixed  in  a  horrible  static  saraband.  The 
trail  to  Camp  Crowe  leads  through  this 
mocking  company  and  takes  its  name 
from  them,  though  for  the  last  twenty- 
five  miles  it  emerges  from  the  "Ball 
Koom"  and  climbs  a  dun  mesa  which 
terminates  in  a  fortresslike  outcropping 
of  quartz,  which  is  at  once  the  lure 
and  the  shelter  of  the  men  who  live  at 
its  base. 

On  a  certain  March  day  in  1899  the 
overland  stopped  at  San  Miguel — an  al 
most  unprecedented  event — and  let  off 
two  passengers.  The  man  was  lifted 
down  carefully  by  the  train  crew.  The 
woman,  forgetful  of  self,  neglected  the 
casual  hand  of  the  porter,  offered  for 
her  assistance. 

"Well,    ma'am,"    said   the    conductor, 


44  Harper's  Novelettes 

"there's  the  wagon  to  meet  yon.  I 
swear,  that  takes  a  burden  off  my  mind. 
Now  you're  all  right,  ma'am;  though  I 
do  hate  to  leave  you  here  among  them 
blamed  Dancers.  Here's  the  man  to  meet 
you,  ma'am.  And  I'm  thankful  you  got 
through  without  any— any  accident." 

He  gave  a  swift  clasp  to  the  woman's 
hand  and  swung  on  the  slow-moving 
train.  Her  companion  sat  on  the  embank 
ment,  leaning  against  her,  as  she  waved 
a  farewell  to  the  men  who  had  helped  her 
through  her  long  and  cruel  journey,  and 
then  turned  to  greet  the  driver  of  the 
wagon  her  husband's  cousin  had  sent 
from  Camp  Crowe.  The  supply-wagon 
was  visible  a  little  way  off,  hitched  to 
four  "  clay  -  bank  "  mules  —  creatures 
which  suited  their  environment  in  every 
respect,  and  at  a  comparatively  short 
distance  melted  completely  into  the 
monochrome  of  the  desert.  The  driver 
of  the  wagon  had  a  stretcher  with  him, 
as  if  quite  prepared  for  the  helplessness 
of  his  passenger.  He  and  the  woman 
carried  the  sick  man  to  the  wagon,  the 
man  on  the  stretcher  saving  his  strength 
in  every  way.  He  did  not  so  much  as 
trouble  himself  to  look  around,  but  had 
the  air  of  one  who  guards  a  very  precious 
thing  and  cannot  afford  to  have  his  at- 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       45 

tention  diverted.  He  did,  indeed,  guard 
the  one  thing  that  money,  science,  and 
faith  cannot  supply — the  light  of  life, 
which  flickered  low  in  its  socket  and 
which  a  breath  would  extinguish. 

The  woman  had  a  voice  hoth  cheerful 
and  clear,  and  as  she  staggered  along 
over  the  rough  embankment,  carrying 
her  end  of  the  stretcher,  she  said : 

"  It's  such  a  relief  to  find  you  here 
waiting!  When  I  was  told  that  the 
train  never  stopped  here  at  San  Miguel's 
unless  it  was  signalled  I  realized  what 
a  deserted  place  it  must  be,  and  I  won 
dered  what  we  would  do  if  you  didn't 
happen  to  be  here  on  time." 

"  The  hull  camp  was  worryin*  fur  fear 
I  wouldn't  git  here,"  admitted  the  man. 
"An'  Hank  Crowe  wanted  to  send  an 
other  man  with  me,  but  I  knew  he  could 
n't  well  spare  one.  I  said  to  him  I 
calkilated  a  woman  that  would  come  out 
to  this  place,  an'  leave  her  baby  an'  all, 
would  git  up  spunk  enough  to  help  me 
with  the  stretcher." 

His  kind  glance  met  hers  and  seemed 
to  applaud  her  as  they  stumbled  over  the 
uneven  ground  with  their  light  load. 

"But  is  there  no  man  at  all  at  San 
Miguel's?"  she  asked. 

"None  to  speak  of,"  said  the  other. 


46  Harper's  Novelettes 

They  had  reached  the  wagon  with  its 
covering  of  white  canvas,  and  Sandy 
Rich  slipped  the  stretcher  adroitly  in 
its  place.  He  went  back  for  the  trunks 
and  hampers  which  had  been  thrown  off, 
while  the  woman  gave  her  attention  to 
the  invalid. 

"Air  you  goin'  to  set  inside?"  he 
asked,  "  or  will  you  git  up  on  the  driver's 
seat  with  me?  I  put  in  a  foldm'-chair 
so's  you  could  stay  inside  if  you  wanted." 

Claudia  Judic  looked  questioningly  at 
her  husband. 

"I'm  feeling  very  well,"  he  whispered, 
still  with  the  air  of  guarding  that  un 
speakably  precious  thing.  "  Sit  outside, 
Claudia." 

"  You  see,"  said  Rich,  under  his  breath, 
as  they  walked  around  to  the  front  of 
the  wagon  together,  "  there  is  another 
man  here.  He's  the  agent  of  the  sta 
tion  yon,  and  he  does  the  telegraphing. 
But  it  wouldn't  do  for  Mr.  Judic  to  see 
him !  He's  a  scarecrow — come  out  here 
six  months  ago  much  in  the  same  way 
Mr.  Judic  is  now.  He's  doing  fine,  but 
it  wouldn't  have  done  to  have  him  carry- 
in'  that  stretcher.  It  would  'a'  scared 
Mr.  Judic  outright  at  the  start.  I  went 
to  him  and  said, '  Hull,  don't  you  so  much 
as  stick  your  head  out  of  the  door.' " 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       47 

"  Poor  fellow !"  said  the  woman. 

"Who?  Hull?  Oh,  he's  all  right. 
Hull  ain't  the  sort  that  frets  about  a 
missin'  lung  or  two.  There  he  is  now!" 

Claudia  looked  over  where  the  dark- 
red  station-house  squatted  in  a  patch 
of  green,  which  lay  like  an  emerald  in 
the  dull  gold  of  the  desert.  A  slender 
young  man  stood  at  the  side  waving 
a  handkerchief. 

"Does  he  want  something?"  she  asked. 

"  Hull?  No.  That's  his  way  of  sayin' 
'good  luck.'" 

"Oh!"  said  Claudia  Judic.  She 
snatched  her  own  handkerchief  from  her 
belt  and  fluttered  the  white  signal.  The 
desert,  which  a  moment  before  had  seem 
ed  limitless  and  alien,  already  showed 
signs  of  neighborliness. 

They  had  been  talking  almost  in  whis 
pers,  but  now  she  spoke  aloud. 

"  I've  just  given  him  his  milk  and  his 
stimulants,"  she  said,  looking  back  in  the 
wagon  from  the  seat  to  which  she  had 
with  some  difficulty  attained,  and  speak 
ing  as  women  do  in  hours  of  wifely  anx 
iety,  as  if  there  were  but  one  being  in 
the  world  entitled  to  the  masculine  pro 
noun.  "For  half  an  hour,  at  least,  I 
think  he  will  be  safe.  It  takes  us  a  very- 
long  time  to  reach  the  Camp,  I  suppose  ?" 


48  Harper's  Novelettes 

Rich  said  nothing  for  a  second  or 
two.  lie  gathered  the  reins  in  his  hands 
and  chirruped  low  to  his  animals.  Six 
teen  stanch  legs  stretched  forth  in  uni 
son,  and  with  a  curious,  soft,  steady 
movement  the  wagon  began  to  whirl  along 
the  desert.  Claudia  Judic  thought  she 
had  never  experienced  a  more  delight 
ful  motion. 

"They're  as  smooth  as  silk,  them 
mules,"  said  Rich,  referring  to  the  loco 
motive  qualities  of  the  excellent  beasts 
and  not  to  their  mottled  skins  of  cream 
and  tan.  "  And  though  it  is  a  good  way 
to  Camp,  we'll  git  there  as  safe  an'  as 
quick  as  the  critters  ken  git  us." 

"Well,"  said  Claudia,  in  a  tone  of 
resignation,  "it  seems  as  if  things  were 
going  to  come  out  right.  I  can't  help 
feeling  it.  And,  anyway,  I've  done  all 
I  could." 

"Yes'm,"  said  Rich,  with  conviction, 
"  I'll  bet  you  have." 

From  time  to  time  he  stole  a  glance 
at  the  woman  by  his  side.  She  was  a 
small  creature  with  a  delicate  face, 
sweetly  featured  and  tinted.  Her  eyes 
were  a  soft  brown ;  the  brows  above  them 
were  rather  highly  arched,  and  the  lashes 
long.  Her  ears  were  pink  and  small; 
her  brown  hair,  touched  with  gold,  curled 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       49 

about  her  ears  and  waved  on  her  brow 
in  filmy  bannerets.  She  sat  soldier- 
straight,  but  she  was  full  of  impulsive 
and  graceful  motions,  and  when  she 
turned — as  she  did  every  moment  or  two 
— to  look  at  the  prone  figure  within  the 
wagon,  there  was  something  so  protecting 
and  efficient  in  her  look  and  gesture  that 
Rich  felt  if  "  anything  happened "  she 
would  meet  it  with  courage.  He  had 
been  warned  that  something  might  hap 
pen.  At  the  Camp  they  were  under  the 
impression  that  he  had  gone  out  to  meet 
a  dying  man.  James  Judic  was  the  cousin 
of  Henry  Crowe,  owner  and  promoter  of 
Crowe's  Mine,  and  of  the  cyanide  plant 
which  made  marketable  its  economical 
product,  and  Crowe  had  offered  the  sick 
man  his  last  chance  for  life  in  extending 
to  him  the  hospitality  of  the  desert. 

Every  half -hour  the  mules  were  reined 
in  while  the  sick  man  was  given  food 
and  stimulants.  He  seldom  spoke,  and 
his  eyes  had  that  lonely  and  forbidding 
look  which  comes  to  those  who  stand  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Long  Trail.  His 
wife  spoke  to  him  as  if  he  were  a  child. 
She  used  a  tone  of  command,  for  all  her 
tenderness.  She  was  the  directress  of  his 
destiny,  and  unconsciously  she  suited 
voice  and  action  to  the  part. 


50  Harper's  Novelettes 

Claudia  was  almost  childishly  amused 
at  the  "  dancers,"  and  when  she  came 
to  two  that  stood  apparently  with  lifted 
skirts,  toes  pointed  high  and  arms  poised, 
above  the  head,  she  laughed  outright. 

"  I  believe  it  does  me  good  to  laugh,'7 
she  said,  piteously,  clasping  and  un 
clasping  her  hands.  "  I  never  would 
have  dared  to  do  it  if  the  place  weren't 
so  large.  There's  no  use  in  keeping  shut 
up  in  your  trouble  in  such  a  big  place 
as  this !" 

She  took  in  the  vast  wild,  the  arching 
heavens,  the  flight  of  a  proud  eagle,  with 
her  sad  and  gentle  eyes. 

"  No  use  on  yearth !"  agreed  Mr.  Rich. 
"I  say  nothin'  was  ever  any  better  for 
pullin'  a  long  face  over  it.  We  may  as 
well  whoop  it  up  while  we're  on  this 
yearth  below."  He  said  it  with  a  twang 
that  seemed  to  give  it  a  Scriptural  turn. 

The  wind  blowing  over  the  desert  was 
cool  and  refreshing.  The  gray-green 
flora  of  the  waste  mitigated  the  expanse 
of  sand,  and  here  and  there  a  few  pifions 
cluttered,  or  a  patch  of  alfileria  grew. 
The  distance  was  lilac,  the  sky  a  cloud 
less  sapphire. 

•'It  doesn't  look  so  terrible,"  said 
Claudia  Judic.  "I  had  always  thought 
the  desert  would  be  very  terrible." 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       51 

«It  gits  riled,"  said  Rich.  "But  I 
never  saw  none  so  ugly  they  was  riled 
all  the  time." 

Mrs.  Judic  laughed  lightly. 

"That's  true  enough,"  she  said,  and 
settled  her  feet  on  the  dashboard.  She 
was  ready,  evidently,  to  accept  both  the 
comforts  and  the  philosophy  of  the  place. 
She  had  left  behind  her  the  freshly 
weaned  babe  of  her  love  and  all  the 
friends  of  her  native  town;  left  behind 
the  snug  home-life,  the  ease  which  had 
always  been  hers,  She  had  set  out  to 
race  and  to  struggle  with  Death,  and  she 
was  nerved  to  the  contest.  She  had  no 
thought  and  no  hope  that  did  not  relate 
to  it. 

"It's  a  pity,"  said  Rich,  as  they  ate 
together  from  the  lunch-basket  he  had 
spread  between  them  on  the  high  seat, 
"  that  you  couldn't  'a'  brought  your  baby. 
Hank  Crowe  was  tellin'  me  how  you  had 
to  leave  it  behind.  I  said  to  him  I 
thought  that  was  mighty  tough." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Judic,  with  a  catch 
In  her  throat,  "  I  couldn't  bring  him. 
He  was  just  six  months  old  the  very  day 
the  doctor  told  me  that  if  I  wanted  to 
keep  Mr.  Judic  alive  I'd  have  to  take 
him  to  another  climate.  You  see,  Mr. 
Judic  couldn't  go  alone.  He  depends  on 


52  Harper's  Novelettes 

me  so.  About  one-tenth  of  him  is  body 
and  all  the  rest  is  spirit,  you  may  say. 
The  doctor — old  Doctor  Reynolds  that 
we've  always  had — said  if  I  sent  him  off 
alone  he  was  as  good  as  doomed.  I  had 
to  hold  James  in  my  arms  a  good  part 
of  the  way  here.  His  vitality  was  so 
low  I  was  afraid  he  might — might  go, 
and  I  not  know  it.  You  see,  I  simply 
couldn't  bring  the  baby." 

She  looked  at  the  man  with  an  ex 
pression  at  once  wistful  and  defensive. 

"Oh  pshaw,  no!"  he  cried.  "What 
could  you  'a'  done  with  a  baby  ?" 

"I  just  gave  him  over  to  Mother 
Judic,"  said  she.  "Mother  has  such  a 
nice  little  home,  with  a  beautiful  yard 
and  all.  And  all  the  neighbors  are  in 
terested  in  Jamie.  He's  a  very  healthy 
baby,  and  he's  quick  to  make  friends — 
holds  out  his  hands  to  every  one  and  is 
forever  laughing.  His  hair  is  the  bright 
est  yellow  I  ever  saw.  You'd  think  it 
was  spun  gold  if  you  were  to  see  it  in  the 
sun,  and  there's  a  dimple  at  every  finger 
and  one  at  each  knee  and  elbow, — besides, 
of  course,  those  in  his  cheeks." 

"Must  be  as  full  of  holes  as  a  sieve," 
laughed  Kich,  rather  huskily. 

"You  never  had  a  baby,  I  suppose, 
Kr.Rich?" 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       53 

"Who?  Me?  Oh,  thunder!  yes,  I've 
had  a  kid.  Dead,  though.  Mother  dead 
too.  His  mother  was  part  Mojave — part 
Indian,  you  know.  But  she  was  a  good 
woman.  And  the  kid — he  was  all  right 
too.  We  had  a  smallpox  summer  here 
once  and — " 

"I  see/'  said  Claudia  Judic,  softly. 
"  And  your  boy — how  old  was  he  ?" 

"Why,  he  was  three.  He  was  mighty 
cute,  too, — used  to  pretend  help  me  hitch 
up,  and  'd  ride  with  me  everywhere.  I 
was  doin'  haulin'  for  the  old  Bona- 
venture  mine  then.  I  just  quit  and  come 
away  after  he  was  gone.  It  was  too  all- 
fired  lonesome;  I  couldn't  stand  it." 

"No,"  said  the  woman,  softly.  They 
drove  on  for  some  time  in  silence,  each 
absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts.  The  breaith- 
ing  of  the  sick  man  came  to  them  heavily. 

"It's  a  long  way  yet,  I  suppose,"  said 
Mrs.  Judic. 

"  Oh,  not  so  far,"  heartened  the  other, 
and  whipped  his  mules  into  a  faster  run. 
The  woman's  small  hands  were  clasped 
in  her  lap,  and  Eich  could  see  that  her 
whole  being  was  at  a  tension.  She  was 
listening,  body  and  soul,  to  that  labored 
breathing.  She  had  asked  her  husband 
a  dozen  times  if  he  wanted  her  to  hold 
his  head  or  sit  by  him,  but  he  had  more 


54  Harper's  Novelettes 

air,  he  said,  if  he  had  the  whole  space 
to  himself.  There  was  air  enough,  sure 
ly — air  sweeping  out  of  the  lilac  distance, 
quivering  visibly  on  the  horizon,  tossing 
the  finer  sand  in  soft  hillocks.  From 
time  to  time  Mrs.  Judic  gave  her  hus 
band  whiskey  and  water  from  a  flask,  but 
betweentimes  she  used  all  of  her  self- 
control  to  feign  indifference.  It  annoyed 
him,  she  feared,  to  be  the  constant  sub 
ject  of  attentions. 

At  twilight  they  reached  the  Camp. 
It  was  a  group  of  tents  set  in  the  sand. 
A  cold  and  beautiful  spring  bubbled  up 
out  of  the  ground  and  trickled  away  in 
a  small  rivulet.  In  the  shadow  of  the 
Fortress,  as  the  rock  was  called,  stood 
the  cyanide  plant,  with  its  fresh  pine 
sides — an  ungainly  edifice. 

There  was  a  new  tent  set  apart  among 
a  group  of  piiions,  with  its  door  opening 
to  the  expanse  of  the  desert.  Eich 
pointed  it  out. 

"  That's  your  home,  ma'am,"  he  said. 
"  No  front  steps  to  scrub,  you  see."  lie 
did  not  drive  up  to  the  tent,  but  kept 
on  the  road  and  stopped  before  a  hitch- 
ing-post. 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  cut  your  yard  all 
up,"  he  explained. 

Their  approach  had  been  silent,   and 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert        55 

the   men,    who    were    at    supper    in    the 
eating-tent,  had  not  heard  their  arrival. 

"  The  dogs  usually  let  folk  know  when 
there's  anything  doin',"  said  Rich,  "but 
this  time  we've  fooled  them." 

In  the  dim  interior  of  the  wagon  they 
could  make  out  the  sick  man  lying  mo 
tionless.  His  eyes  were  closed,  his  breath 
feeble,  his  hands  shut  in  a  curious  grip. 

Eich  started  back  from  the  wagon,  but 
Mrs.  Judic  gave  a  reassuring  whisper. 

"He's  just  holding  on  to  himself," 
she  said.  "Let  them  know  he's  here, 
and  tell  them  to  bring  something  hot 
— coffee  or  soup.?; 

A  moment  later  the  men  came  pouring 
out  of  the  eating-tent.  They  were  silent, 
having  evidently  been  warned  against  a. 
commotion.  At  their  head  walked  Henry 
Crowe,  Judic's  cousin.  He  strode  up  to 
Claudia,  looking  gigantic  in  the  twi 
light,  and  grasped  her  hand  in  awk 
ward  congratulation. 

^"Wcll,   you   got   here!"   lie   said,   sig 
nificantly. 

He  had  made  the  Judics'  tent  com 
fortable  in  soldier  fashion,  with  two  cots 
covered  with  gray  blankets,  a  table,  somo 
folding-stools,  a  stove,  and  a  wash-stand. 
He  and  Rich  carried  in  the  sick  man. 
The  Chinese  cook  came  running  along  in. 


5  6  Harper's  Novelettes 

the  windy  dusk  bearing  a  tray  of  hot 
food,  and  Claudia  threw  off  her  hat  to 
make  ready  to  feed  her  husband.  At 
the  end  of  an  hour  he  was  sleeping  com 
fortably.  Then  she  stood  up  and  wiped 
the  perspiration  from  her  face. 

"  Come,"  Crowe  whispered.  "  Come 
over  and  get  something  to  eat.  One  of 
the  men  will  look  after  James." 

She  obeyed  without  a  word,  and  Crowe 
sent  one  of  the  men  to  keep  watch  till 
her  return. 

"  Well,"  said  Henry  Crowe,  suiting  his 
pace  to  hers  as  they  crossed  the  camp- 
yard,  "I  like  your  way  of  doing  things, 
Claudia.  If  James  lives,  I  guess  he'll 
know  where  to  put  the  blame.  I  always 
knew  you  had  sentiment,  but  I  wasn't 
so  sure  you  had  sense.  I  thought  perhaps 
you  were  too  sweet  to  have  any  sense." 

His  cousin's  wife  looked  up  wanly. 

"Oh,  Henry,"  she  laughed,  "how 
queer  it  sounds  to  have  any  one  talking 
about  me!  I've  almost  forgotten  that 
I  existed.  It's  been  so  horrible  about 
James,  and  it  was  such  torture  for  his 
mother  to  part  with  him,  and  every  one 
has  been  so  wondering  how  the  baby 
would  get  on  and  if  it  would  live,  that 
I've  ceased  to  have  any  life  except 
through  these  others." 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       57 

Crowe  seated  her  at  the  table  and 
waited  on  her,  even  cutting  the  bread 
from  the  loaf. 

"  That's  all  right,  too/7  he  said,  heart 
ily.  "You've  been  living,  Claudia! 
Some  of  us  couldn't  care  that  much  about 
any  one  if  we  wanted  to,  and  if  we  did 
care  we'd  never  know  how  to  think  of 
anybody  but  ourselves." 

As  Claudia  Judic  ate  the  coarse  food 
of  the  camp,  washing  the  meal  down  with 
the  hot,  grateful  tea,  she  thought  of  her 
cousin's  words.  Perhaps  this  labor,  this 
consuming  anxiety,  this  utter  sub 
mergence  of  self,  was  life.  Maybe  it 
was  a  privilege — this  responsibility,  this 
midnight  flow  of  tears,  this  relinquish- 
ment  of  delight!  She  fell  to  thinking 
of  her  wedding  romance,  of  the  days  of 
joy  and  service  and  of  pleasant  neigh 
borly  offices  and  domestic  tasks,  of  her 
first  home-keeping  and  all  the  pleasures 
of  that  placid,  useful,  wholesome  time. 
Then  came  the  revelation  of  Jamie,  the 
child  of  her  heart,  and,  suddenly,  as  his 
father  and  herself  worked  and  loved  and 
planned  together,  brooding  over  the  child, 
building  for  it,  and  nurtured  with  the 
sweet  food  of  content,  James  had  been 
stricken  down.  Had  he  been  a  heartier 
man,  the  physician  said,  he  would  have 


5  8  Harper's  Novelettes 

died.  As  it  was,  he  hung  somewhere 
between  life  and  death,  and  fared  forth 
neither  way.  Then  came  the  period  of 
horrible  waiting,  while  the  soul  and  the 
mind  of  the  sick  man  grew  torpid,  while 
all  planning  and  initiative  devolved  upon 
her,  so  unexperienced  and  untrained,  and 
their  small  store  dwindled,  and  the  dread 
of  want  overtook  them. 

She  looked  up  suddenly,  remembering 
where  she  was.  Not  far  from  her,  in  a 
corner,  her  cousin  sat  smoking  his  pipe. 
Six  feet  and  two  inches  in  height,  with 
his  sand-colored  khaki,  yellow  leggings, 
and  his  sun-bleached  hair,  he  was  typical 
of  the  West  of  which  Claudia  had 
dreamed — dreaming  not  so  much  with 
anticipation  as  with  dread. 

"You'll  sleep  well  to-night,"  said  her 
cousin,  "and  in  the  morning  we'll  talk 
things  over.  I  don't  say  James's  pros 
pects  are  bright,  but  I  say  he  has  a 
fighting  chance !  As  for  you — 

Claudia  Judic  held  up  a  fragile  hand 
on  which  glittered  her  diamond  engage 
ment-ring,  and  the  plain  gold  band  that 
James  Judic  had  placed  on  that  slender 
finger  on  a  yet  more  significant  occasion. 

"Don't  speak  of  me!"  she  cried,  with 
a  kind  of  gayety.  "  I — I  think  I'd  rather 
talk  of  anything  else." 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       59 

They  went  out-of-doors  together  and 
paced  up  and  down  the  sands,  talking 
of  their  friends  and  neighbors  back  in 
Craven,  Iowa.  Crowe  wanted  to  say 
something  about  the  baby,  but  she 
avoided  that  subject,  and  turned  him 
from  it  whenever  he  approached  it.  So, 
after  a  time,  he  left  her  at  her  tent.  He 
paced  up  and  down  at  a  distance  for  a 
while,  watching  her  as  she  made  prepara 
tions  to  care  for  the  sick  man  during  the 
night.  She  had  not  asked  to  have  any 
one  near  her,  had  expressed  no  fear  of  the 
black  waste  without  her  door,  had  not  even 
so  much  as  inquired  if  there  were  wild 
animals  or  prowling  Indians.  There  were 
both,  in  fact,  but  the  men  at  Camp  Crowe 
took  their  chances  even  as  men  in  the 
city  take  theirs,  with  the  expectation 
that  disaster  will  come  to  other  men,  but 
not  to  themselves.  After  a  while  she 
let  down  the  flap  of  her  tent.  She  was 
ready  for  the  night — the  night  which 
would  bring  her  little  refreshment  and 
many  interruptions. 

And  when,  the  next  morning,  she  came 
early  from  her  tent,  hollow-eyed,  but  smi 
ling,  and  went  to  breakfast  with  the  rest, 
she  was  accepted  as  part  and  parcel  of 
Camp  Crowe.  The  men  accepted  her, 
liked  her  pluck,  her  reserve,  the  coura- 


60  Harper's  Novelettes 

geous  cheerfulness  of  her  voice.  The  des 
ert  accepted  her,  and  tanned  her  delicate 
skin  and  took  the  brilliant  gloss  from 
her  hair,  nourished  her  limbs  and 
strengthened  her  spirit.  The  day  and 
night  accepted  her  and  gave  her  work 
and  rest.  She  worked  more  hours  than 
any  man  in  the  Camp,  but  she  had  a  pow 
er  of  recuperation  that  none  of  the  rest 
had.  While  they  plodded  along  the  sand, 
she  tripped;  when  they  gloomed,  she 
laughed.  It  was  not  a  laugh  which 
sprang  from  gayety,  for  there  was  noth 
ing  to  inspire  that.  It  was  the  maternal 
laugh — the  laugh  the  brave  spirit  makes 
to  hearten  those  about  it.  And  from  the 
first  she  assumed  maternal  responsibilities 
in  the  Camp.  She  began  by  looking 
after  her  husband's  cousin,  but  present 
ly  she  was  looking  after  every  one — even 
Li  Chung,  the  Chinese  cook. 

For  the  first  two  months  her  husband's 
destiny  hung  in  doubt.  It  was  a  gam 
bling  crowd  at  Crowe's  Camp,  but  no  one 
was  taking  chances  on  James  Judic's  life. 
Then,  almost  in  a  day  it  seemed,  he  began 
to  walk  up  and  down  outside  his  tent 
in  the  morning  sun,  and  to  wonder  what 
the  mail  would  bring,  and  to  laugh  at 
the  songs  the  men  sang.  After  this  his 
improvement  was  rapid,  and  presently 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       61 

he  was  given  small  tasks  to  do  about  the 
camp,  and  Henry  Crowe  consulted  him 
on  business.  He  had  a  head  for  busi 
ness,  and  his  practical  training  in  a 
bank  made  it  easy  for  him  to  assume 
the  responsibilities  of  the  bookkeeping 
and  the  correspondence  for  the  Crowe 
Mining  Company. 

At  the  end  of  six  months  he  began  to 
feel  himself  established  there,  in  a  way. 
He  was  still  far  from  strong,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  make  even  moderate 
excursions.  But  he  was  comfortable;  he 
slept  and  ate  well,  and  his  spirits  were 
good.  He  began  to  develop  a  taste  for 
the  life,  and  left  Claudia  much  alone 
while  he  sat  with  the  men,  listening  to 
their  stories  or  their  songs,  or  taking  a 
hand  with  them  at  poker. 

Something  curious  had  befallen  James 
Judic  in  that  strange  twilight  of  exist 
ence  when  he  hung  between  life  and 
death.  His  soul  had  somehow  divested 
itself  of  conscientiousness,  and  he  had 
shuffled  off  responsibility.  He  fell  into 
the  way  of  living  for  the  hour,  of  avoid 
ing  thought  of  the  future,  and  it  was 
evident  that  he  regarded  the  past  as  a 
time  of  heavy  burdens.  He  seldom  re 
ferred  to  it,  seldom  spoke  of  his  mother 
or  his  child.  He  seemed,  in  the  revival 


62  Harper's  Novelettes 

of  animal  life  that  had  como  to  him,  to 
find  sufficient  satisfaction  in  the  mere 
facts  of  sun,  wind,  sleep,  food,  laughter, 
and  converse.  He  had  preserved  that  un 
speakably  precious  thing  which  he  had 
clutched  with  eager  hands.  It  was  his. 
He  lived.  To-day  was  to-day;  all  that 
went  before  was  with  yesterday's  seven 
thousand  years,  and  to-morrow  was  an 
unknown  quantity. 

Claudia  had  begun  to  take  up  other 
tasks.  She  went  into  the  kitchen  at  least 
once  a  day  to  direct  the  cooking,  and  she 
often  prepared  dishes  with  her  own  hands, 
transforming  the  table  by  these  ministra 
tions.  She  kept  Henry  Crowe's  tent  in 
a  condition  of  exquisite  cleanliness,  and 
if  any  of  the  men  required  to  have  a 
needle  used  they  came  to  her,  sure  of 
gracious  service.  She  was  a  practical 
and  an  honest  woman,  and  she  gave 
these  offices  in  reciprocity  for  the  hos 
pitality  which  she  received — hospitality 
for  which  she  could  make  no  other  re 
turn.  James  paid  his  way  by  his  book 
keeping — paid  it  and  more, — and  after  a 
time  Crowe  recognized  this  fact  and  gave 
him  a  stated  stipend.  How  much  it  was 
Claudia  did  not  know,  for  she  never  saw 
any  of  it. 

It  is  wonderful  how  Time  can  cheat 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       63 

the  unwary.  In  this  little  sequestered 
community,  where  each  day  was  like  the 
last,  where  no  events  of  importance  dis 
turbed  the  trivial  usualness,  the  weeks 
and  the  months  slipped  by  like  beads 
on  a  string.  The  gray  djinn  of  the  waste 
are  wizards  and  mesmerize  the  soul.  At 
least  every  one  seemed  sordidly  content, 
though  the  mine  gave  small  profits,  and 
nothing  occurred  to  justify  the  sacrifice 
represented  by  this  isolation. 

There  was  but  one  member  of  the 
party  who  was  actively  discontented,  and 
that  was  the  one  who  habitually  spoke 
words  of  content.  Claudia  Judic,  as  has 
been  said,  had  no  thought  at  first  but 
to  spend  herself  for  her  husband.  She 
was  consumed  with  the  desire  to  see  him 
well.  It  was  as  if  she  hung  over  a  pit, 
holding  him  from  the  abyss  with  her 
fragile  arms.  But  when  she  had  lifted 
him,  when  he  stood  at  the  rim — though, 
perchance,  somewhat  too  near  the  sheer 
dark  edge  —  her  generic  maternity  re 
curred  to  something  more  specific.  She 
began  to  remember  the  babe  she  had  left 
thousands  of  miles  behind.  Not  but  that 
she  had  always  remembered  him  in  a 
sense.  A  child  is  always  in  a  mother's 
mind,  furnishing  the  substructure  of 
thought  and  feeling.  Or,  to  speak  with 


64  Harper's  Novelettes 

clearer  simile,  the  voice  of  the  child  is 
forever  audible  to  the  mother;  it  is  the 
fundamental,  ever-present  harmony,  and 
as  the  diapason  of  the  sea  lies  behind 
the  other  harmonies  of  nature,  making 
the  voices  of  the  wind,  the  cries  of  men, 
birds,  and  trees  but  accessories,  so  the 
sounds  of  the  world  relate  themselves  to 
the  voice  of  the  child  in  the  heart's-ear 
of  the  mother.  This  consciousness  had 
always  been  Claudia's.  But  now  more 
definite  longing  came  to  her.  She  was 
ready  for  her  babe,  and  therefore  her 
being  cried  out  for  him.  Nor  was  it 
alone  her  spirit  that  made  this  demand, 
nor  yet  merely  that  she  might  learn  how 
he  had  grown  in  thought,  what  words 
came  to  his  lips,  what  expectations  and 
fears  looked  out  of  his  heaven-blue  eyes. 
It  was  these  things,  truly,  but  it  wa3 
much  more.  Her  whole  body  desired  him. 
The  passion  of  the  lover  for  his  mistress 
is  a  little  thing  compared  to  this  mater 
nal  hunger.  Her  arms  ached,  literally, 
to  clasp  him,  her  shoulders  ached  to  bear 
his  weight,  her  feet  ached  to  run  in  his 
service;  her  eyes  were  hot  for  want  of 
beholding  him.  At  night  she  dreamed 
she  felt  him  tugging  at  her  long  hair, 
or  nestling  his  satin-soft  and  dimpled 
hand  in  her  bosom. 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       65 

She  did  not  dare  to  speak.  More  than 
ever  James  needed  her.  His  health  would 
have  deserted  him  with  his  first  week's 
residence  in  a  less  arid  climate,  and  there 
were  other  than  physical  reasons  why 
she  now  felt  she  must  remain  with  him. 
She  set  herself  against  the  atmosphere  of 
the  camp,  contriving  this  thing  and  that 
to  keep  her  husband  with  her  after  work- 
hours,  and  pouring  her  love  upon  him 
like  a  libation.  She  gave  so  freely  that 
she  did  not  realize  that  she  was  giving, 
and  neither,  indeed,  did  James.  He  took 
her  devotion  as  he  did  the  sunshine,  not 
analyzing  the  cause  of  his  elasticity  of 
heart,  nor,  perhaps,  understanding  it.  It 
is  not  the  way  with  most  men  to  notice 
the  presence  of  happiness,  but  only  the 
absence  of  it. 

"It's  a  free  life,"  he  would  say  to 
his  wife.  "I  never  dreamed,  Claudia, 
till  we  came  here,  how  free  life  could  be. 
I  wouldn't  go  back  to  the  conventionali 
ties  and  restraints  for  anything  that 
could  be  given  me.  Oh,  if  I  had  my 
health,  of  course,  it  might  be  different! 
But  as  it  is,  this  is  the  life  for  me." 

It  never  seemed  to  occur  to  him  that  she 
wanted  to  go  back.  And  she  knew  there 
was  not  enough  money  with  which  to  pay 
for  that  long  journey.  They  were  all  but 


66  Harper's  Novelettes 

penniless.  Such  small  investment  as  they 
had — and  it  was  only  a  few  hundred  dol 
lars — Claudia  had  placed  at  the  disposal 
of  her  mother-in-law  to  use  for  the  child. 
She  was  much  too  proud  to  ask  her 
husband's  cousin  for  any  money,  and, 
indeed,  he  had  hard  enough  work  at 
times  to  pay  off  his  men  and  purchase 
the  supplies. 

It  was  not  oftener  than  once  a  fort 
night  that  the  wagon  was  sent  for  the 
mail.  Then  it  went  the  forty  miles  to 
San  Miguel  and  ten  miles  beyond,  fol 
lowing  along  the  railroad  to  the  town  of 
Santa  Cerro,  where  there  was  a  supply- 
store  as  well  as  a  post-office.  The  hour  of 
return  was  always  uncertain.  The  men 
were  sent  turn  and  turn  about,  that  they 
might  have  the  taste  of  the  pleasures  of 
the  town,  and  if  these  proved  particu 
larly  enticing,  the  return  of  the  wagon 
might  be  delayed  a  good  many  hours, 
sometimes  even  a  day  or  two.  Such 
dereliction  as  this  met  with  general  dis 
approbation,  it  is  true,  but  it  was  looked 
upon  in  the  light  of  an  accident,  which 
the  man  who  had  lapsed  from  the  path 
of  rectitude  and  punctuality  regarded 
with  almost  as  much  regret  as  did  his 
fellow  campers. 

Mail-days    became    active    torture    to 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       67 

Claudia  Judic.  She  would  await  with 
tense  expectation  the  appearance  upon  the 
horizon  of  the  dusty  "schooner"  drawn 
by  its  four  "clay-bank"  mules.  For 
tunately  her  tent  stood  farthest  desert- 
ward,  and  sitting  at  her  door  she  could 
see  for  five  miles  down  the  level  floor  of 
the  mesa.  Certain  days  she  could  see 
even  farther.  She  had  a  remarkable 
sight,  and  the  desert  life  sharpened  it. 
She  could  pick  out  a  bird  that  others 
could  not  see,  could  catch  its  wings 
glinting  in  the  sun  in  the  burning  sap 
phire;  note  the  distant  movements  of 
the  prairie-dogs  and  catch  the  flick  of 
the  rabbit's  tail  when  none  but  herself 
could  detect  them.  Sometimes  for  hours 
she  sat  with  her  eyes  f  ocussed  on  the  most 
distant  visible  part  of  the  dusty  mesa. 
But  the  most  terrible  moment  of  all,  per 
haps,  was  when  the  wagon  was  entering 
camp.  She  was  suspicious  if  the  driver 
chanced  to  withhold  his  gaze  from  her, 
imagining  that  he  had  no  letter  and  was 
loath  to  confess  it;  if  he  signalled  her 
with  his  glance,  she  was  equally  certain 
it  was  from  pity,  and  that  he  had  come 
letterless.  She  felt  like  shrieking  with 
impatience  while  she  stood  among  the 
others,  commanding  her  face  to  impassiv 
ity,  till  the  letters  were  handed  round. 


68  Harper's  Novelettes 

It  was  taken  for  granted  that  nothing 
was  to  be  done  by  any  one  till  that  cere 
mony  was  over.  Men  were  excused  from 
their  work,  meals  stood  uneaten,  every 
thing  waited  for  this  event. 

A  yet  more  poignant  instant  came 
when  the  letter  was  actually  in  her  hand. 
She  could  not  bring  herself  to  read  it 
before  the  others,  and  often  she  could 
hardly  summon  the  strength  to  walk 
away  with  it  to  her  tent.  Then,  alone, 
she  hesitated  to  tear  it  open,  and  would 
compel  herself  to  the  nice  use  of  her  pen 
knife,  opening  the  letter  properly.  At 
the  first  reading  she  could  understand 
nothing.  Her  eyes  would  eat  up  the 
words,  which  conveyed  no  meaning  to  her. 
All  was  as  confused  as  if  it  had  been 
written  in  a  foreign  tongue.  But  she 
would  discipline  herself  to  patience  and 
to  perception,  and  slowly,  word  by  word, 
like  a  child  learning  to  read,  she  would 
follow  her  mother-in-law's  small,  neat 
chirography  through  the  closely  writ 
ten  pages. 

'  Usually  the  letters  were  filled  with 
anecdotes  of  Jamie — he  had  teeth  like 
grains  of  rice;  he  was  running  around 
the  yard  alone;  he  was  talking,  and  there 
would  be  an  attempt  to  reproduce  his 
speeches.  Now  he  had  had  some  esca- 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       69 

pade,  now  some  unusual  pleasure;  or  he 
was  indisposed  with  a  cold,  or  he  had  a 
new  Sunday  frock,  or  his  grandmother 
had  bought  him  some  toys.  The  reports 
were  minute  and  merciful.  Across  the 
jealousy  which  a  woman  feels  for  a 
son's  wife  the  mother  -bond  spanned, 
making  the  old  mother  compassionate  to 
the  young  one.  She  actually  refrained 
from  telling  all  the  child's  loveliness  and 
cleverness  lest  she  should  cause  unneces 
sary  torture.  She  tried  to  think  of  ways 
in  which  Claudia  could  contrive  to  come 
back  for  a  visit;  she  apologized  for  not 
being  able,  physically  or  financially,  to 
bring  the  child  out  to  Camp  Crowe. 

It  was  in  the  second  year  that  Claudia 
began  to  lay  a  plan.  She  had  accustomed 
herself  to  the  idea  that  if  her  husband 
was  to  live  at  all  he  must  stay  where 
he  was.  He  was  making  himself  useful, 
and  his  income  was  now  of  some  account. 
Claudia  began  to  ask  him  for  a  little 
each  week,  and  this  she  scrupulously  put 
away.  She  was  nest-building,  and  once 
the  idea  seized  her,  it  became  an  absorb 
ing  passion. 

"I  want  a  house,  Henry,"  she  said 
one  night  to  her  husband's  cousin. 

They  were  walking,  as  they  often  did, 
up  and  down,  on  the  soft  earth,  in  the 


70  Harper's  Novelettes 

wild  wonder  of  the  sunset.  It  turned 
their  very  faces  into  gold,  tinged  their 
sun-faded  hair  with  glory,  and  lighted 
their  eyes  with  a  sort  of  over-beauty. 
Their  clothes  no  longer  appeared  worn 
and  work-stained,  but  garments  splendid. 
When  they  spoke  simple  words,  it  was 
as  those  who  can  afford  to  use  plain  lan 
guage,  because  of  some  argent  richness  of 
thought  lying  behind  the  words.  About 
them  was  vastness;  and  their  isolation 
became  at  such  moments  not  pitiable,  but 
proud.  They  seemed  allied  to  historic 
desert-dwellers,  and  they  felt  sure  of  the 
possession  of  the  virtues  which  have  made 
such  dignified  among  men — the  virtues 
of  hospitality,  of  courage,  of  tribal  faith. 
This  night  the  glow  was  paler  than  it 
sometimes  was,  and  they  spoke  softly, 
and  of  home  things,  Claudia  following 
with  idle  gaze  a  humming-bird  that 
nested  in  the  branching  cactus,  unafraid 
of  harm. 

"You  should  have  had  a  house  long 
ago,"  said  Crowe,  "only  I  had  a  fear 
that  you  might  think  we  were  trying  to 
tie  you  down  here.  Neither  James  nor 
I  wish  to  do  that,  of  course." 

"  Destiny  has  made  this  my  home," 
she  said,  gravely.  "It  is  here  that  I 
live."  There  was  no  sadness  in  the  tone. 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       71 

The  soft  vibrations  of  the  voice  seemed 
tinged  with  a  gentle  pride. 

"I  would  have  built  a  house  for  my 
self,"  continued  her  companion,  "  only 
Fve  always  liked  that  little  bunch  of 
tents.  It  reminds  me  of  a  Bible  picture 
I  used  to  look  at  when  I  was  a  little 
fellow.  Probably  the  picture  was  all 
wrong,  and  that  tents  of  that  particular 
sort  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  case; 
but,  anyway,  it's  in  my  mind  and  won't 
get  out.  The  mules  have  been  a  real 
cross  to  me.  I  always  wanted  camels  and 
some  date-palms." 

Claudia  .gave  a  gurgling,  birdlike  laugh. 

"I  know,"  she  said;  "but,  dear  me! 
you  never  can  have  camels.  And  you 
can't  make  a  tent-woman  out  of  me.  I'm. 
not  that  kind,  you  see." 

"  No,"  admitted  Crowe,  looking  at  her, 
"you  aren't." 

She  had  never  lost  her  look  of  fragility, 
of  gentleness.  She  was  essentially  do 
mestic,  Her  smile  was  made  to  welcome 
one  at  the  threshold.  Her  voice  was 
for  sheltered  rooms.  It  suited  itself  to 
the  hearth,  the  cradle,  and  the  family 
table.  The  wild  might  be  all  about  her, 
but  she  remained  a  tame  thing,  a  creature 
of  roof  and  fire,  of  songs  and  dreams, 
of  the  quiet  arts,  of  housed  loves. 


72  Harper's  Novelettes 

So  the  men  were  set  to  work  to  put 
her  up  an  adobe.  It  was  in  two  parts, 
with  a  patio  between,  and  in  the  patio 
ehe  swung  hammocks  and  set  certain 
potted  vines — things  not  of  that  environ 
ment.  One  room  was  for  sleeping.  It 
was  bare  and  clean  and  comfortable,  with 
the  air  blowing  in  from  every  side,  if 
the  occupants  so  willed. 

The  other  room  was  for  living — for  it 
was  still  Crowe's  idea  to  have  his  cousins 
eat  at  the  general  table,  that  being 
economy  both  of  food  and  service.  This 
second  room  Claudia  decorated  with 
the  conventionalized  leaf  of  the  yucca 
splashed  in  dull  red  upon  the  walls.  She 
had,  among  the  things  she  had  brought 
from  home  with  her,  a  roll  of  dark-red 
Indian  cotton  necked  with  peacock's 
feathers,  and  of  this  she  made  draperies 
and  a  couch-cover.  James's  invalid-chair 
and  her  own  rocker,  brought  over  from 
Santa  Cerro,  stood  beside  the  reading- 
table,  and  there  were  a  few  books  and 
twenty  photographs  of  Jamie.  The  floor 
of  pounded  earth  was  made  gay  with 
Indian  rugs,  and  baskets,  both  for  use 
and  ornament,  played  a  conspicuous  part 
in  the  furnishing.  A  well-tended  olla 
stood  in  the  shadiest  corner,  and  a  flower 
ing  Mexican  shawl  flaunted  itself  —  a 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       73 

piece  of  flamboyant  tapestry — from  the 
wall.  It  was  rather  a  gay  little  apart 
ment,  and  when  its  mistress  was  in  it 
her  qualities  of  femininity  seemed  to  be 
come  accentuated. 

"  I  would  know  it  was  your  room, 
Claudia,"  said  Henry  Crowe,  "if  I 
stumbled  in  it  without  a  notion  that  you 
were  this  side  of  the  Rockies." 

It  seemed  to  speak  of  home  and  old 
association  to  Judic,  too,  arid  he  was  in 
it  a  good  deal  more  than  might  have 
been  expected.  He  and  Crowe  got  in 
the  way  of  playing  chess  together,  and 
Claudia  sewed  or  watched  them. 

But  this  room,  sociable  as  it  was,  could 
not  be  said  to  be  her  favorite.  She  liked 
better  the  night-room — the  room  where 
she  slept.  For  sleep  had  come  to  be  the 
doorway  to  an  enchanted  castle  of 
Heart's  Desire.  There  baby  kisses  were 
ready  at  hand  to  warm  a  mother's  starved 
lips;  baby  hands  tugged  at  one's  skirts; 
a  baby  voice  shattered  the  great  bubble 
of  silence.  Sometimes,  even,  warm, 
down-soft  baby  fingers  cuddled  in  one's 
palm.  And  when  dawn  came,  overbright, 
awaking  one  to  the  bald  facts  of  life, 
there  was — well,  anything  but  that  which 
came  in  dreams. 

By    common    consent    the    group    of 
6 


74  Harper's  Novelettes 

pinon-trees  near  Mrs.  Judic's  adobe  was 
considered  as  her  private  garden,  though 
no    wall    surrounded    it    save    the    blue 
horizon,   and  no  flowers  grew  there  ex 
cept  those  of  the  fancy.     But  the  scrub- 
pines  made  a  sort  of  screen,  so  low  did 
their  branches  grow  upon  the  trunks ;  and 
the  point  of  honor,  which  was  to  avoid 
scrutinizing  Mrs.  Judic  when  she  retired 
to^this  spot,  gave  it  a  privacy  which  walls 
might  not   have   secured.     It  had   from 
the  first  been  Claudia's  custom  to  spend 
much  time  there,  but  when  for  several 
days   she   came   to   haunt   the   spot,   the 
men  grew  curious.     And  at  last   Sandy 
Rich    played    the    Peeping    Tom.      Mrs. 
Judic  had  gone  for  a  canter,  and  when 
her    white    mare    and    blue    frock    were 
splotches  of  color  on  the  mesa,   Sandy, 
ventured   into   the  "garden."     What  he 
saw   made   him    worried   for   a   moment 
about    Mrs.    Judic's    sanity.      For   there 
were  little  shelves  fitted  in  between  the 
trees,    with    low    benches    before    them, 
and  on  the  shelves  were  bits  of  broken 
china,  glittering  pieces  of  quartz,  mica 
chips,  a  foolish  array  of  shards  and  scraps 
such  as   a   child   might  gather.      Sandy, 
heavy-jawed  and  wide-eyed,  stood  staring. 
lie  thought  hard  and  long,  and  by  de 
grees  an  idea  dawned. 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       75 

"It's  the  kid!'7  he  decided.  "She's 
plannin'  to  git  the  kid  out." 

He  told  first  one  and  then  another  of 
the  men,  till  all  the  camp  knew.  It 
needed  this  explanation,  perhaps,  to  ac 
count  for  the  change  that  was  coming 
over  her.  Something  half  coquettish  or 
expectant,  something  sweetly  and  timor 
ously  gay,  showed  itself  in  her  manner 
and  her  looks.  She  was  laying  aside  the 
old  frocks  which  she  had  worn  till  they 
were  almost  in  rags,  and  was  appearing 
in  new  clothes,  made  by  her  own  hands, 
and  girded  with  scarlet  or  blue.  She 
donned  little  cloth  caps  of  the  same  col 
ors,  and  she  had  the  appearance  when  she 
came  from  her  tent  of  having  a  new 
toilet.  The  sum  represented  in  these 
purchases  was  a  minute  one,  but  fore 
thought  had  been  given,  that  was  evident. 
James  Judic  happened  to  mention,  casual 
ly,  that  his  wife  was  sending  back  a 
red  tam-o'-shanter  because  she  didn't  like 
the  shade. 

It  may  have  been  about  this  time  that 
he  began  to  notice  that  he  had  lost  his 
abject  servitor.  He  no  longer  required 
close  service,  it  is  true^  but  his  sick  van 
ity  had  got  into  the  way  of  expecting  it. 
His  wife,  however,  appeared  to  have  too 
many  matters  in  hand  to  spend  her  time 


70  Harper's  Novelettes 

in  watching  or  anticipating  his  moods. 
She  was  continually  occupied  with  some 
thing,  as  he  noticed  with  an  irritation 
of  which  he  felt  ashamed  and  for  which 
he  could  not  account.  She  was  riding, 
or  housekeeping,  or  sewing,  or  touching 
with  fingers  reminiscent  of  old  days  the 
zither  which  Henry  Crowe  had  bought 
for  her  on  her  last  birthday.  The  music, 
soft  as  an  ajolian  harp,  crept  into  the  air, 
spending  itself  like  a  slow  wave.  Under 
her  fingers  it  was  as  soft  and  yearning 
as  a  woman's  voice;  and,  indeed,  the 
melodies  took  to  themselves — or  so  it 
seemed  to  him  who  had  given  her  the 
instrument — the  accents  of  supplication. 
They  appeared  to  woo  and  call  and  coax. 
Sandy  Rich,  striding  up  and  down  in 
the  night,  unseen  and  vaguely  dreaming 
of  things  he  could  not  voice,  tormented, 
too,  with  a  pain  he  did  not  understand, 
made  out  the  meaning  of  all  this. 

"She's  callin'  the  kid,"  he  said,  in 
his  beard.  "  An',  by  gosh !  if  I  was  dead 
I  believe  I'd  hear  her — callin'  like  that!" 

Presently  it  was  known  that  Sandy's 
surmises  had  been  correct,  and  that  "  the 
kid "  was  coming  out  in  the  care  of  a 
woman  who  lived  at  Towner,  the  next 
village  to  Craven,  and  that  she  was 
going  on  to  Pasadena,  and  was  to  drop 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       77 

little  Jamie  Judic  off  at  San  Miguel, 
where  the  train  was  to  be  slacked  for 
the  purpose.  The  day  was  set.  He  was 
coming;  and  it  was  considered  good  form 
for  every  one  to  make  some  reference  to 
it  when  Mrs.  Judic  was  around. 

"I  tell  ye  what,"  said  Sandy,  "you'll 
have  to  keep  him  clost  to  the  house,  Mis' 
Judic.  You  mustn't  let  him  git  around 
the  blastin'." 

"There's  that  colt  of  Nancy's,"  said 
Crowe,  speaking  of  the  flecked  colt  of 
the  white  mare.  "By  the  time  it's  old 
enough  to  saddle,  Jamie  '11  be  the  right 
size  to  mount  him." 

"  I  cal'late  we'll  have  to  shet  off  Sandy's 
vile  swearin'  tongue,"  declared  Judson 
Shafer,  the  overseer  of  the  mill.  "  He 
ain't  fit  for  no  kid  to  be  around." 

Crowe  decided  to  build  himself  a  home ; 
and  after  that  had  been  built  in  the 
odd  hours  of  the  men,  Shafer,  the  over 
seer,  went  in  with  two  other  men  to 
put  up  a  third  residence.  Camp  Crowe 
began  to  lose  its  gipsy  look — its  appear 
ance  of  being  an  overnight  caravan. 

Moreover,  Claudia  contrived  a  sun 
dial,  and  she  got  Sandy  Rich  to  build 
a  spring-house.  It  was  of  rough  rock, 
with  seats  by  the  side,  and  Sandy  fretted 
out,  crudely,  in  the  stone,  this  doggerel: 


78  Harper's  Novelettes 

Comfort  give  to  great  and  least, 
Wandering  man  and  weary  beast. 

She  sent  for  some  pepper-tree  saplings 
and  willow  cuttings,  and  set  them  out 
near  the  spring,  where  they  took  kindly 
to  their  environment. 

But  Claudia  Judic,  working,  laughing, 
cajoling,  was,  after  all,  merely  cheating 
time.  Her  hands  were  busy,  but  her 
eyes  were,  so  to  speak,  on  the  clock.  She 
was  set  to  one  tune,  wound  up  for  a 
certain  hour,  focussed  to  a  coming  event ! 

"I  think,"  she  said,  gravely,  to  the 
men  at  supper  one  night,  "that  though 
it  may  seem  foolish  in  me,  I'd  better 
start  for  the  train  the  night  before  Jamie 
is  expected.  You  see,  starting  at  dawn 
is  all  very  well  ordinarily,  and  I  know 
you've  made  it  with  the  mules  over*  and 
over  again.  Yet,  if  one  of  them  should 
happen  to  fall  lame  or  anything  break 
about  the  wagon —  She  broke  off  in 
horror  at  the  thought. 

"But  where  could  you  sleep?"  asked 
Crowe,  turning  a  deep  gaze  upon  her. 
"You  can't  lie  out  in  the  desert,  you 
know." 

Claudia  had  a  vision  of  the  dark  won 
der  of  the  pulsing  sky,  and  the  star  of 
the  Nativity  above  the  place  where  the 
Babe  lay. 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       79 


"  Oh,  I  should  not  at  all  mind 
out  in  the  sand,"  she  said.  "And  in 
the  morning-  we  could  build  a  fire  and 
make  our  coffee,  and  have  Mr.  Hull  over 
to  eat  with  us.  I  have  always  liked  Mr. 
Hull  so  much!"  She  referred  to  the 
station  agent  who  had  signalled  her 
good  luck  the  day  of  her  arrival. 

So  it  was  agreed.  Sandy  was  to  drive, 
and  Judic  and  his  wife  were  to  go  in. 
the  wagon,  which  was  to  be  taken  on  to 
Santa  Cerro  for  supplies,  and  then,  re 
turning  to  San  Miguel,  pick  them  up. 

But  from  excitement  or  defect  of  will, 
James  Judic  fell  ill,  suddenly  and  acute 
ly,  and  his  wife  could  not  leave  him.  She 
came  to  breakfast  and  told  the  men. 

"  I  can't  go,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  they 
had  never  heard  her  use  before.  "Mr. 
Judic  is  very  ill  indeed.  He'll  be  well 
by  to-morrow  or  the  next  day  if  I  nurse 
him  properly,  but  I  couldn't  leave  him. 
It's  out  of  the  question.  You'll  have  to 

—  to  go  alone,  Mr.  Rich." 

A  stormy  silence  spread  around  the 
table.  Tornado  seemed  imminent,  and 
Claudia  quivered  to  it.  She  held  the 
men  steady  with  her  brave,  tortured  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Judic  is  terribly  distressed  about 

—  about    disappointing    me,"    she    said. 
"But  he  knows  that  Mr.  Rich  will  take 


8o  Harper's  Novelettes 

good  care  of — of — "  She  could  not  utter 
another  syllable.  For  the  first  time  in 
their  three  years'  experience  with  her 
she  broke  down.  But  she  had  a  proud 
frankness  about  it.  She  put  her  hand 
first  to  her  trembling  lips  and  then  to 
her  eyes,  and  arose  with  dignity  and  made 
her  way  to  the  door. 

Sandy  Rich  was  off  early.  He  started, 
indeed,  a  day  in  advance  of  the  appointed 
time,  but  there  was,  of  course,  the  mar 
keting  to  do  at  Santa  Cerro. 

"  Thunder  and  mud !"  sighed  Sandy, 
"but  I'll  bet  them  mules  do  go  lame! 
I'll  bet  you  two  to  one  the  darned  wagon 
breaks!  I'd  ruther  be  chased  by  Injuns 
than  go  on  this  yere  errand!" 

"  See  you  do  it  well,"  growled  Judson 
Shafer.  "  If  you  come  back  here  with 
out  that  kid,  you'll  be  lynched." 

It  was  meant  for  a  jest,  but  it  sounded 
curiously  unlike  one.  Sandy  knew  the 
eyes  that  watched  from  the  adobe  by  the 
pinons,  and  as  he  flicked  his  sand- 
colored  mules  down  the  mesa,  they  seemed 
to  be  burning  holes  in  his  back — those 
eyes  with  their  soft  fires.  He  resisted 
the  impulse  to  turn  as  long  as  he  could. 
It  seemed  almost  too  familiar,  too  con 
fidential,  for  him  to  respond  to  this 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       81 

mystic  and  imperious  message.  But  the 
force  was  too  compelling.  He  turned 
and  waved  his  hand.  Something  scarlet 
flashed  back  and  forth  in  answer.  It  was 
the  red  cap — of  the  right  shade — which 
Claudia  Judic  had  got  to  please  the 
critical,  heaven-hlue  eyes  of  her  son ! 

Work  went  badly  at  the  blastings  and 
worse  at  the  mill.  An  air  of  uncertainty 
pervaded  everything.  Mrs.  Judic  was  not 
at  dinner  nor  at  supper.  The  sound  of 
her  zither  was  not  heard.  An  appalling 
and,  it  seemed,  a  presageful  silence  hung 
over  her  house.  The  night  settled  down, 
with  purple  sky  and  stars  of  burning 
beauty;  the  dawn  was  pellucid,  with  a 
whispering  ground-wind.  But  still,  at 
breakfast,  she  was  not  visible.  The  camp 
had  fed  and  battened  on  her  good  cheer, 
but  she  hid  herself  in  the  hour  of  her 
fears.  The  gay  mask  was  down,  and  she 
spared  them  the  sight  of  the  bared,  truth 
ful  face. 

The  long  day  waned — the  long,  bland, 
golden,  unemphasized  day.  It  drew  to  its 
close,  as  all  days  have  to,  whether  of 
agony  or  ecstasy.  And  on  the  mesa,  a 
little  bunch  against  the  sky,  appeared 
the  familiar  wagon. 

"It's  Sandy,"  said  the  men,  drawing 
long  breaths  and  lighting  their  pipes— for 


82  Harper's  Novelettes 

supper  was  Just  over.  "It's  that  fool 
Sandy."  ^  And  they  smoked  silently,  wait 
ing-  in  vicarious  agony. 

Had  the  train  been  smashed?  Had 
the  woman  kidnapped  the  child?  Had 
the  child  died  on  the  way?  These  ques 
tions,  crudely  put  and  jokingly  ex 
changed,  represented  the  sympathy  felt 
for  that  invisible  woman  in  the  adobe. 
They  did  not  know  that  at  their  utmost 
they  could  encompass  only  a  portion  of 
her  fears. 

It  came  on  along  the  mesa — the  wagon 
came  on.  It  was  at  first  an  exasperating- 
ly  small  thing,  but  it  grew.  It  attained 
its  normal  size.  It  drove  into  the  camp 
yard.  A  glorious  gold  from  the  utter 
most  west  enveloped  the  earth,  and  all 
things  were  visible  by  it,  though  beauti 
fied.  They  all  saw  Sandy  there  in  the 
wagon,  and  saw  him  sitting  —  alone. 
The  men  were  as  statues — immovable  as 
those  hideous  dancers  back  on  the  old 
trail — as  Claudia  Judic  came  out  of  the 
adobe  and  drifted  like  an  ungraved  ghost 
down  the  warm  sands.  She  was  dressed 
in  white — none  of  them  had  ever  seen  her 
so  dressed  before — and  she  wore  a  little 
trailing  vine  in  her  hair. 

The  eyes  they  had  known  so  patient 
had  a  different  look  in  them  now.  They 


A  Madonna  of  the  Desert       83 

held  a  consuming  expectancy,  a  terrible 
impatience,  a  sort  of  divine  torment. 
But  there  was  only  Sandy  on  the  seat, 
busying  himself  with  something  back  in 
the  wagon,  and  for  very  mercy  the  men 
looked  away. 

What  did  she  mean  by  coming  on  like 
that  when  she  saw  there  was  only  Sandy  ? 
They  were  indignant.  They  wanted  to 
shout  to  her  to  go  back.  Shafer  tried  to 
wave  to  her,  but  his  arms  fell  powerless. 
She  came  on  so  swiftly,  too !  A  miserable 
panic  seized  upon  the  men.  They  wanted 
to  run. 

Then,  as  they  looked,  as  they  flinched, 
as  they  inwardly  cursed,  up  above  the 
seat  back  rose  a  tousled  head  of  gold,  a 
pair  of  wondering  eyes  filled  with  baby- 
wisdom,  a  dew-damp  face  flushed  from 
sleep,  smiling  yet  tremulous! 

Sandy  leaned  back  and  lent  a  hand. 

"  Up  with  you,  old  man !"  he  cried. 
"Here  ye  are,  honey-heart,  and  here's 
yer  ma!" 

They  saw  her  come  on  and  reach  up 
her  slender  arms.  They  saw  the  boy  look 
at  her  with  adorable  timidity;  saw  her 
beaming  beauty  banish  his  fears,  saw  her 
gather  him  close  and  walk  away  with  his 
head  pillowed  in  her  neck. 

Sandy  got  down  from  the  wagon  seat 


84  Harpers  Novelettes 

and  stood  on  the  shining  earth  in  the 
glorified  light.  He  began  to  unharness 
the  mules,  and  three  men  came  to  assist 
him.  Silence  hung  heavy  sweet.  But 
Sandy  valorously  broke  it. 

"I  calkilate  I  don't  git  lynched,"  he 
said. 


The  Prophetess  of  the  Land  of 
No-Smoke 

BY  MARIE  MANNING 

OLD  Chugg  had  brought  the  stage 
into  town  one  afternoon  on  a 
rocking  gallop  that  to  the  initi 
ated  signified  some  information  of  im 
portance,  and,  without  leaving  the  box, 
had  given  some  advance  news  in  panto 
mime.  He  had  a  passenger  inside — an 
old  man  with  a  beard  like  a  prophet,  who 
later  went  about  the  vicious  little  town 
affixing  signs  to  such  resorts  as  apparent 
ly  stood  most  grievously  in  need  of  refor 
mation.  The  notices  merely  stated  that 
a  prayer-meeting  would  be  held  on  No- 
Smoke  prairie  on  the  following  Thursday, 
and  that  all  would  be  welcome.  But  as 
Chugg's  pantomime  had  consisted  of 
elaborate  manipulation  of  a  phantom 
skirt,  with  sundry  coquettish  rollings  of 
the  eye  and  some  clerical  gesticulation, 
it  had  not  taken  the  cognoscenti  long  to 


86  Harper's  Novelettes 

discover  that  they  might  shortly  expect  a 
visit  from  the  woman  preacher. 

Town  had  long  heard  of  her — the  fame 
of  her  preaching  was  broadcast.  "  When 
she  left  a  settlement,"  Chugg  had  been 
kind  enough  to  add,  "you  wondered  if 
she  had  done  it  alone,  or  if  she  had  had 
any  seventeen-year  locusts  in  to  help  her." 
So  town  had  decided  to  respond  to  the 
invitation  as  a  man — not  that  it  felt  it 
self  as  seriously  in  need  of  reformation 
as  of  amusement. 

The  fire  and  brimstone  that  had  been 
hurled  at  it  by  the  migratory  preachers 
that  came  to  No-Smoke  at  long  intervals 
seldom  failed  to  enliven  the  life  of  the 
range;  and  while  no  outward  disrespect 
to  the  men  of  the  jeremiads  would  have 
been  permitted,  their  diatribes  seldom 
failed  to  add  to  the  common  fund  of 
innocent  amusement.  The  men  were  will 
ing  to  pay  well  for  their  entertainment, 
too,  when  the  hat  was  passed,  and,  on 
the  whole,  they  considered  that  matters 
between  themselves  and  the  casual  shep 
herds  that  came  to  No-Smoke  stood 
about  even.  And  they  would  bid  an  out 
wardly  chastened  adieu  to  the  parson  and 
await  the  next  camp  happening — which 
might  be  vaudeville  combined  with  the 
sale  of  patent  medicine,  some  desperate 


The  Prophetess  87 

act  demanding  the  swift,  unrelenting 
justice  of  the  plains;  or  another  preacher 
with  his  tales  of  fire  and  brimstone.  Oil 
the  whole,  the  woman  preacher  promised 
more  in  the  way  of  entertainment  than 
her  brothers  in  judgment.  And  one  who 
knew  them  well  would  have  scented  mis 
chief  in  the  men's  demureness  as  they 
rode  forth  from  town  as  sedate  as  a  com 
pany  of  pilgrims  near  ing  a  shrine. 

Spring  had  come  slowly  this  year  in 
the  Land  of  No- Smoke.  Its  name,  which 
in  the  original  tongue  stood  for  its  great 
loneliness — the  place  where  no  camp-fire 
nor  the  curling  smoke  of  tepee  intruded 
upon  the  silent  councils  of  the  hills, — had 
of  late  years  lost  its  significance.  The 
Indians  had  left  the  land  to  the  sun  and 
the  silence  and  the  evil  spirits  that,  ac 
cording  to  their  traditions,  dwelt  there. 
But  the  big  cattle  outfits  had  no  tradi 
tions,  and  when  they  saw  that  the  land 
was  good  for  grazing  they  brought  many 
herds,  and  the  silent  spaces  of  No-Smoke 
fell  into  the  ways  that  were  strange  to  it. 
Town  sprang  into  being  overnight.  The 
cracked  tinkle  of  the  dance-hall  piano, 
the  clinking  of  glasses  and  spurs,  laughter 
loud  if  not  always  mirthful,  pistol-shots, 
— for  life  there  was  essentially  a  thing 
to  be  played  with, — all  contributed  their 


88  Harper's  Novelettes 

sprightly  chronicle,  till  at  last  the  Land 
of  No-Smoke  became  a  byword  for  all 
that  was  unseemly.  And  the  parsons  on 
their  way  to  towns  of  better  repute 
hurled  damnation  at  it  and  left  it  to 
its  evil  ways. 

"  I  take  it,"  said  Tom  Jarvis,  who  was 
in  the  lead  of  the  string  of  horsemen 
winding  their  way  over  the  old  Indian 
trail  in  the  direction  of  the  prayer- 
meeting,  "  that  we're  nearing  this  ycre 
spiritual  round-up.  The  lady  parson  is 
even  now  heating  her  branding-irons  in 
yonder  tent.  The  herd  " — he  waved  a  com 
prehensive  hand  toward  his  companions — • 
"  will  be  druv  to  the  back  of  the  wagon, 
where  the  lady  will  brand  it  accordin'  to 
taste.  'Rock  of  Ages'  and  the  passin' 
of  the  hat — especially  the  passin'  of  the 
hat — will  conclood  the  services." 

Jarvis  was  undeniably  good  to  look  at; 
even  men  would  admit  it.  His  black, 
curly  head  easily  topped  the  crowd  that 
would  collect  at  any  of  their  foregather- 
ing-places  in  the  hope  of  one  of  his  in 
imitable  stories.  Jarvis  was  what  was 
known  about  camp  as  "  a  tall  liar,"  but 
his  work  was  invariably  artistic.  His 
delicately  aquiline  profile  hinted  at  Latin 
descent,  and  the  sombrero  tilted  rakishly 
but  the  more  closely  suggested  the  resem- 


The  Prophetess  89 

blaiice  to  one  of  Velasquez's  gentlemen. 
Yet  Jarvis  spoke  the  "English"  of  the 
range  with  perfect  content,  applied  his 
knife  to  his  food  with  more  than  a 
dilettante's  skill,  and  abhorred  what  he 
would  have  called  "dude  manners." 
There  was  a  cniel  straightness  to  the  lips 
when  he  laughed,  and  he  laughed  more 
with  women  than  with  men.  It  was  said 
about  town  that  he  had  a  wife  in  Texas 
whom  he  had  quarrelled  with,  but  of  this 
Jarvis  had  never  spoken.  He  was  still 
in  the  lead  of  the  string  of  horsemen 
heading  toward  the  prayer-meeting  when 
Saunders  spurred  his  pinto  abreast  of 
Jarvis's  sorrel. 

"  The  whole  country  seems  to  be  takin' 
on  about  us,  and  now  here's  this  preachin* 
woman."  He  spoke  pettishly,  as  though 
the  criticism  of  the  community  of  which 
he  was  an  unimportant  integer  were  a 
personal  affront. 

Jarvis  half  turned  in  his  saddle  and  re 
garded  with  frank  amusemert  the  chinless 
face  with  its  round  eyes  and  puffy  cheeks. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  the  keen  enjoy 
ment  of  a  big  boy  making  merry  with  a 
little  one:  "  The  Platte  Valley  Lyre  in 
that  last  editorial  allowed  that  the  bark 
was  on  our  manners  a  heap;  said  we  had 
taken  the  cure  for  the  water  habit,  till 

7 


90  Harper's  Novelettes 

the  sight  of  a  puddle  set  us  barkin'  like  a 
caucus  of  black-and-tans." 

"  You  don't  say  so !"  said  Saunders,  per 
ceptibly  moved  by  this  statement.  "I'd 
just  hate  my  folks  to  hear  that." 

The  camp  of  the  woman  preacher  was 
before  them.  The  eternal  flatness  of  the 
prairie  was  broken  by  the  outline  of  a 
little  white  tent  and  a  big  uncovered 
wagon.  A  pair  of  lean  horses  close  by 
were  cropping  the  scant  pasturage  of 
early  spring.  These  human  appurte 
nances  seemed  small  and  as  feebly  inade 
quate  to  cope  with  the  giant  forces  about 
them  as  a  child's  toys  would  have  been. 
The  old  man  who  had  affixed  the  notices 
of  the  prayer-meeting  sat  on  one  of  the 
wagon  shafts,  sulkily  whittling.  His  at 
titude  toward  the  impending  service 
seemed  analogous  to  that  of  the  com 
pulsory  host  whose  womenfolk  have 
bullied  him  into  giving  a  party.  He  con 
tented  himself  with  a  churlish  nod  to  the 
men  and  whittled  as  if  whittling  were 
the  business  of  the  day. 

But  with  the  appearance  of  Miriam  the 
sanctimonious  demureness  of  the  congre 
gation,  which  had  not  been  put  out  of 
countenance  in  the  least  by  the  old  man's 
lack  of  cordiality,  now  gave  way  to  self- 
conscious  shyness.  She  was  so  unlike  th0 


The  Prophetess  9T 

drawings  they  had  made  of  her  on  the 
walls  of  Magee's  that  the  sudden  revela 
tion  of  their  shortcomings  as  draughts 
men  had  the  effect  of  turning  the  tables, 
so  to  speak,  and  scoring  a  joke  against 
themselves.  She  had  no  real  claims  to 
actual  beauty — which  made  the  almost 
thrilling  effect  of  her  presence  the  more 
amazing.  She  looked  her  history.  All 
the  selflessness,  the  long  battling  against 
sordid  conditions,  all  the  medieval  mys 
ticism,  were  written  in  that  face,  in  the 
gray  eyes  that  might  have  seen  visions, 
in  the  mouth  that  would  be  tender  even 
in  old  age.  She  had  the  look  of  a 
young  sibyl  whose  heart  is  wrung  that 
she  must  speak  the  words  of  sorrowful 
human  destinies. 

The  men  made  way  for  her  reverently. 
Their  awkward  deference  had  in  it  a 
shade  more  of  awe,  perhaps,  than  even 
the  most  beautiful  woman  might  have 
taken  unquestioningly  as  the  rightful 
tribute  of  a  country  where  the  woman- 
famine  made  itself  insistent  at  every  turn. 
Her  glance  swept  the  throng  of  faces 
crowded  close  about  the  wagon,  then  came 
back  to  Tom  Jarvis.  Perhaps  it  was  his 
general  bearing,  so  startlingly  at  variance 
with  the  rest  of  the  group,  that  at  first 
challenged  her  attention.  His  easy  atti- 


9 2  Harper's  Novelettes 

tude  had  in  it  something-  of  flattery, 
something-  of  curiosity,  something  of  per 
sonal  demand.  The  strained  attention 
that  characterized  the  rest  of  them  was 
in  the  case  of  Jarvis  conspicuously  lack 
ing.  He  was  frankly  interested  in  her, 
but  not  as  a  possible  proselyte  to  any 
scheme  of  salvation  that  she  might  have 
up  her  sleeve,  so  to  speak.  Again  she 
returned  his  glance,  and  the  words  al 
ready  pressing  at  her  lips  took  flight. 
Something  there  was  that  seemed  to  speed 
from  those  half-smiling  eyes  beneath  the 
tilted  sombrero  and  bring  with  it  con 
fusion.  For  the  first  time  since  she  had 
received  "the  call"  to  speak  to  these  peo 
ple  of  the  wilderness  she  was  sensible  of 
self,  of  an  ignoble  desire  to  acquit  her 
self  with  distinction ;— the  serenity  of  the 
prophetess  had  given  place  to  the  self- 
consciousness  of  the  woman. 

<<God!  O  God!"  she  called,  and  her 
voice  was  muffled  as  one  who  calls  feebly 
in  the  anguish  of  a  dream.  But  the  sound 
broke  the  spell;  the  congregation  was  not 
called  to  wait  longer  for  her  preaching. 
Miriam  spoke  to  them  from  the  big  open 
wagon  in  which  she  had  journeyed.  On 
the  seat  was  the  old  man,  her  father, 
his  hand  in  his  prophet's  beard,  looking 
up  at  her— though  he  lost  the  magic  of 


The  Prophetess  93 

her  words  in  his  wonder  at  her  gift  of 
speech.,  Her  gaze  was  beyond  them  all — • 
straight  into  the  blue.  The  wide  shining 
eyes  gave  glowing  testimony  of  her  abun 
dant  inspiration.  After  that  first  break 
ing  of  the  spell  the  outflow  of  her  sin 
cerity  bore  her  along  with  the  force  of 
a  torrent.  The  grim  lines  relaxed  in  the 
men's  faces;  they  looked  up  at  her,  a 
group  of  great,  overgrown  boys  with 
some  latent  flash  of  the  ingenuousness 
of  childhood  lighting  up  their  russet, 
tanned  faces. 

"  Our  Heavenly  Father,"  she  prayed, 
te  give  me  the  power  to  speak  Thy  word 
as  Thou  wouldst  have  it  spoken,  lovingly 
and  with  mercy.  Let  these  men  feel 
through  me,  unworthy  medium,  that  Thou 
art  with  them  in  this  wilderness, — in  this 
land  of  such  great  loneliness  that  savage 
peoples  long  ago  called  it  by  a  name  that 
means  there  is  no  home  in  all  the  land. 
And  calling  it  thus,  they  left  it  to  the 
suns  and  the  snows  and  the  silence  that 
were  here  always.  And  if  these  men, 
in  their  desolation,  sometimes  try  to  for 
get  that  there  are  no  good  women  and 
little  children  who  are  glad  of  their  com 
ing — if  they  try  to  forget  these  things — 
do  not  let  them  think  that  Thou  judgest 
them  without  understanding.  False 


94  Harper's  Novelettes 

prophets  have  told  them  that  Thy  wrath 
burns  as  the  summer  sun  on  the  desert 
sand,  but  tell  them  through  me  that  it 
is  not^so.  For  Thy  mercy,  boundless  as 
this  wilderness,  is  with  them  always." 

She  stretched  out  her  hands  to  them 
in  quivering-  entreaty;  the  tears  streamed 
down  her  face.  The  men  were  moved  by 
them  more  than  by  the  words  she  had 
spoken; — a  woman  had  wept  over  them, 
a  good  woman.  An  inarticulate  murmur 
ran  through  the  group.  They  edged  up 
closer  to  the  wagon  and  listened  like 
hounds  with  every  sense  abeyant. 

Subconsciously  she  was  aware  of  an 
influence  drawing  her  gaze  from  the 
mountains,  and  the  necessity  for  resisting 
it.  Then  in  an  unguarded  moment  her 
eyes  wandered  from  the  snows  of  the 
towering  peaks  to  the  group  of  faces  be 
fore  her,  and  her  glance  encountered  the 
smiling  eyes  of  Tom  Jarvis.  Tolerance, 
indulgence  even,  there  were  in  that  nar 
row  look  that  told  unmistakably  he  was 
not  taking  her  seriously.  Eealizing  this, 
there  came  an  end  to  her  inspiration. 
She  was  no  longer  the  shepherdess  of  No- 
Smoke;  she  was  only  a  woman  who  had 
done  her  best.  She  asked  a  blessing  on 
their  meeting  and  took  refuge  in  the 
little  white  tent. 


The  Prophetess  95 

The  men  shook  themselves  like  dogs 
that  had  been  through  deep  water— all 
but  Tom  Jarvis,  whose  narrow  eyes  con 
tracted,  then  he  yawned.  Some  of  the 
men  began  to  talk  to  the  old  man  ^  on 
the  wagon  shaft.  Miriam  remained  with 
in  the  tent. 

"Say!"  said  Softy  Saunders,  his  fin 
gers  twirling  a  dirty  dollar  bill,  "that 
was  a  heap  fashionable  sermon,  but  why 
don't  they  pass  the  hat  T 

Jarvis  smiled  his  narrow  smile.  "  She's 
inside  the  tent  looking  up  a  deep  one — the 
stovepipe  hat  that  the  old  man  wore  when 
he  run  a  faro-bank  over  in  Tucson." 

The  men  changed  countenance;  the 
fleeting  boyish  expression  with  which 
they  had  listened  to  her  preaching  gave 
place  to  their  every-day  reckless  look. 
The  haggard  lines  came  back,  and  there 
was  some  unseemly  laughter. 

"  Did  you  see  this  man  deal  faro  ovei1 
in  Tucson?" 

"  I  never  see  his  own  particular  bunch 
of  features  hovering  over  a  faro-table," 
Jarvis  admitted,  "  but  I  ain't  been  out  in 
this  country  for  ten  years  without  pickin' 
up  the  art  of  readin'  brands  some.  See 
an  old  graybeard  trailin'  round  the  coun 
try  with  a  likely-lookin'  young  gal,  and 
I'll  show  you  a  coin  round-up  all  right. 


96  Harper's  Novelettes 

Sometimes  it's  singin'  an'  voyleen,  some 
times  it's  faro,  sometimes  it's  preachin', 
but  you  pay  for  it,  no  matter  what's 
its  alias." 

"But  if  you  ain't  seen  this  identical 
old  man  and  this  identical  gal  dealin' 
faro,  you  got  no  call  to  run  felonous 
brands  on  to  'em  and  turn  'em  loose  for 
contumely," — Softy  Saunders  grew  two 
inches, — "  and  by  your  leave  I  think  you 
are  a  liar." 

A  dozen  hands  dragged  them  apart. 
The  old  man  on  the  wagon  shaft,  talking 
ramblingly  to  whomever  would  listen,  had 
heard  no  word  of  the  dispute,  but  now 
burst  into  feeble  cackles  of  senile  laugh 
ter.  "Let  'em  scrap;  let  'em  scrap — ha, 
ha! — used  to  be  a  great  scrapper  myself; 
stopped  it  now,  though.  She  " — he  jerked 
his  thumb  toward  the  white  tent — "  she 
don't  like  it!"  He  continued  to  laugh 
feebly,  looking  at  them  from  one  to  the 
other,  his  eyes  deep  in  the  mists  of 
seventy  odd  years.  "  Used  to  do  right 
smart  o'  odd  jobs  back  home,"  and  again 
the  ghostly  laughter.  "  Whitewashed  Mis' 
Todd's  fence  and  mended  her  chicken- 
coop  all  in  one  day — ha,  ha!  I  tell  you 
there  was  a  livin'  in  it,  but  she" — and 
again  the  accusing  thumb  pointed  toward 
the  tent — "heard  there  warn't  no  min- 


The  Prophetess  97 

isters  out  here,  and  she  would  sell  out  an 
come.  Said  what  was  good  enough  for 
Matthew  was  good  enough  for  us.  House 
belonged  to  her;  her  mother  left  it  that 
way;  an'  here  we  be  'most  ready  for 
the  poorhouse." 

Jarvis  looked  about  with  a  triumphant 
smile.  "  Surely,  uncle,  you'll  let  me  pass 
the  hat  among  the  boys  ?" 

In  a  twinkling  the  mist  rolled  away 
from  the  dull  eyes. 

"If  she  don't  catch  us — you  couldn't 
pass  no  hat — but  you  might  give  me  any 
little  thing."  He  looked  apprehensively 
toward  the  tent.  Jarvis  sent  his  eyes  up 
and  drew  his  nose  down,  and  grinned 
around  the  circle  like  a  cow-punching 
Mephistopheles.  Saunders  had  already 
dropped  his  dirty  dollar  in  the  clutching 
tentacles  of  the  old  man.  He  answered 
Jarvis's  grimace  with  a  wink.  Several 
of  the  men  followed  and  deposited  coins 
or  bills,  according  to  their  capacity  for 
receiving  and  retaining  sentimental  im 
pressions  under  adverse  circumstances. 
The  old  man  cackled  feebly  as  he 
opened  and  shut  his  fist.  His  eyes  had 
taken  on  new  lustre;  they  glowed  pale 
ly,  like  a  candle  burning  behind  a  cob- 
webbed  pane. 

"  Father !  father !"    The  cry,  full  of  dis- 


9-S  Harper's  Novelettes 

tress,  rang  from  the  tent,  and  Miriam 
ran  to  the  old  man  and  opened  his  hand 
quickly,  as  if  she  were  taking  some  hurt 
ful  spoil  from  a  child.  She  turned  to  the 
men  with  eyes  full  of  disappointment. 
"  Didn't  I  say  one  word  to  your  hearts  ?" 
She  pointed  to  the  hills  against  the  sky 
line,  blue  on  blue,  till  the  long  chain 
melted  into  the  snow  crests.  "  And  I 
came  all  that  way  to  speak  to  you,  and 
this  Is  your  answer!"  She  crowded  the 
mon«y  into  Jarvis's  hand  so  carelessly 
that  some  of  the  smaller  coins  rolled  to 
the  ground.  "Father  is  old;  he  does 
not  understand."  With  infinite  tender 
ness  she  led  him  toward  the  tent;  he 
was  whimpering  like  a  child.  "  Yes,  yes," 
she  soothed  him,  "I'll  get  your  supper 
now,  and  you're  to  have  the  fresh  eggs 
we  got  yesterday, — and  I'll  make  the  cof 
fee  strong  and  sweet." 

"  It  looks  mighty  like  the  quenchers 
were  on  you,  Jarvis,"  said  one  of  the 
men,  lounging  up  to  the  doubting  Thomas 
as  he  tightened  his  cinch.  Town  was 
far  away;  the  sun,  a  flaming  ball,  was 
dropping  behind  the  western  range  like 
a  round  lantern  caught  afire. 

Jarvis  continued  busy  with  his  cinch, 
and  when  he  looked  up  he  seemed  less 
sure  of  himself,  less  debonair. 


The  Prophetess  99 

"  You're  right.  The  quenchers  are  on 
me  if  any  one  will  drink  with  such  a 
hound !"  He  flung  a  leg  across  the  sorrel, 
and  soon  was  one  with  the  shadows  of 
the  foot-hills.  At  the  fork  of  the  road 
they  turned  to  look  back.  Miriam  had 
come  from  the  white  tent  and  begun  to 
gather  dry  sage-brush  for  the  evening  fire. 
They  watched  her  crouching,  moving  fig 
ure,  now  silhouetted  against  the  red,  now 
lost  In  the  shadows,  as  she  went  and 
came  among  the  dry  stalks  of  last  year's 
rank  abundance.  The  line  of  the  head, 
the  meek  profile,  the  round  throat  melt 
ing  into  the  simply  gathered  bodice,  were 
all  so  many  arguments  in  her  favor.  The 
eloquence  of  Demosthenes  would  not  have 
prevailed  against  the  solitary  figure  go 
ing  about  her  homely  task  on  the  lone 
ly  prairie. 

They  went  back  to  town,  and  not  a 
man  among  them  could  have  told  what 
it  was  that  had  befallen  him  and  robbed 
his  pipe  of  its  savor  or  Mr.  Magee's 
saloon  of  its  accustomed  sorcery.  They 
talked  it  over  far  into  the  night,  and 
decided  —  with  perhaps  not  more  than 
ninety-five  per  cent,  of  self-deception — 
that  what  really  ailed  them  was  the  de 
sire  of  a  firm  purpose  of  amendment. 
They  cast  about  for  a  convincingly 


ioo  Harper's  Novelettes 

oblique  argument  to  detain  the  woman 
preacher  among  them,  and  a  coveted  sal 
vation  seemed  to  meet  the  greatest  num 
ber  of  artistic  requirements.  While  it 
was  yet  early  morning  a  committee  was 
in  its  saddles,  flogging  in  the  direction 
of  No-Smoke  to  present  a  petition  for  a 
daily  prayer-meeting  for  one  week.  They 
did  not  make  a  second  mistake  of  offer 
ing  pecuniary  inducement, — but  might 
they  not  bring  a  little  game  to  the 
camp,  as  the  country  was  fairly  run 
ning  over  with  things  that  needed  kill 
ing?  This  to  the  old  man,  who  at  the 
suggestion  seemed  to  strike  off  a  spark 
or  two  of  cordiality  from  his  generally 
flinty  demeanor. 

But  the  prophetess  would  not  commit 
herself.  She  had  a  journey  to  make  to 
the  north,  and — her  manner  was  gently 
deprecatory— she  was  not  sure  that  the 
Lord  had  need  of  her  work  in  the  Land 
of  No-Smoke.  At  which  ensued  such 
sanctimonious  protestations,  such  cres- 
cendos  and  decrescendos  of  sighing, 
such  rolling  up  of  eyes  and  dropping 
of  mouth  corners,  that  had  these  bronzed 
men  been  in  anything  but  a  frame 
of  mind  utterly  unnatural  they  would 
have  been  the  first  to  laugh  at  them 
selves.  The  prophetess  told  them  that 


The  Prophetess  .  it>i 

she  would  pray  for  light,  and  if  it 
should  be  made  manifest  that  it  was  the 
will  of  the  Master,  she  would  stay  and 
pray  with  them  daily  for  a  week.  They 
thanked  her  and  returned  to  town.  And 
the  miracle  of  it  was  that  no  one  laughed, 
not  even  when  they  were  out  of  ear 
shot  from  her,  nor  yet  when  they  had 
dismounted  at  Magee's  —  dismounted 
there  merely  for  the  sake  of  habit. 
Trade  was  falling  off,  and  the  saloon 
keeper,  after  a  morning  of  unprecedented 
leisure,  poured  himself  a  solitary  draught 
of  consolation,  and  wondered  what  the 
town  was  coming  to. 

Jarvis  joined  them.  He  had  not  been 
one  of  the  committee  to  go  to  No-Smoke 
prairie  to  plead  with  the  prophetess  for 
the  prayer-meetings.  Unlike  the  rest  of 
them,  he  had  not  mislaid  his  sense 
of  humor. 

"Pass  the  sugar  for  the  green-goose 
berry  tarts,  Willy,"  the  facetious  Jarvis 
called  to  an  imaginary  attendant,  waving 
his  hand  toward  the  soured-looking  con 
verts,  who  seemed  devoid  of  inspiration 
or  occupation  till  such  time  as  they 
should  return  to  the  camp  of  the  prophet 
ess  to  hear  of  her  decision.  "  Of  course 
the  lady's  goin'  to  pull  her  righteous 
freight.  A  blind  mule  could  see  that 


102  Harper's  Novelettes 

you  are  converted  straight  through  to  the 
other  side.  '  Othello's  occupation's  gone,' 
as  the  gent  remarked  in  the  Cheyenne 
opera-house  after  he'd  done  strangling  his 
wife."  And  the  newly  regenerate  were 
forced  to  admit  that  the  chances  of 
further  spiritual  aid  seemed  against  them. 
"  I  move,"  continued  Jarvis,  tilting  his 
sombrero  till  the  white  line  above  the 
tan  on  his  forehead  showed,  "that  this 
yere  outfit  regards  me  as  its  forlorn  hope. 
I  ain't  as  yet  found  grace,  and  if  this 
here  lady  soul-sharp  can  be  induced  to 
stop  over,  it  will  be  because  she's  con 
vinced  that  I  shorely  am  in  need  of  it. 
I  therefore  move  that  I  act  as  a  committee 
of  one  lost  sheep,  flocks  out  to  her  camp, 
alone,  and  states  the  case.  The  chances 
are  that  she'll  rather  enjoy  plucking  me 
as  a  brand  from  the  burning."  They 
had  to  admit  the  plausibility  of  this  argu 
ment.  Jarvis  it  was  who  had  refused 
to  take  her  seriously.  Jarvis  presenting 
himself  as  a  proselyte  would  not  be  with 
out  weight  on  his  side  of  the  argument. 
They  heartily  urged  on  him  the  role  of 
envoy  extraordinary  and  minister  pleni 
potentiary  to  the  prophetess;  but  when 
he  left  town,  some  half -hour  later,  on  his 
self-imposed  errand  of  diplomacy,  they 
were  conscious  of  a  just  indignation  in 


The  Prophetess  103 

seeing  that  ho  wore  a  pair  of  new  over 
alls,  and  that  the  red  silk  handker 
chief  that  sagged  gracefully  from  his 
bronzed  throat  was  the  one  reserved  for 
state  occasions. 

The  great  plain  of  No-Smoke  seemed 
to  yearn  in  its  utter  loneliness.  On  three 
sides  the  hills  girt  it  about,  and  from  it 
the  pale  spring  sunshine,  like  some  golden 
vintage  pouring  from  a  broken  cup, 
streamed  down  to  the  great  stark  desert 
beyond,  that  still  slept  the  dreamless 
sleep  of  frost-bound  desolation.  In  the 
uplands  the  wine  of  spring  had  begun 
to  flush  into  life  all  winter  -  numbed 
things.  The  wind  had  the  note  of  the 
mating  bird  as  it  sang  in  the  bare  branches 
of  the  cottonwoods,  already  feathery  of 
outline;  the  tiny  cactus  leaves  were 
shooting  up  from  last  year's  shrivelled 
stumps,  their  thorns  yet  as  harmless  as 
the  claws  of  a  week  -  old  kitten ;  the 
creek,  full,  deep-voiced,  sang  lustily  of 
abundance.  It  gave  plenty  or  it  gave 
famine,  as  it  brawled  to  the  struggling 
ranch-lands  below.  In  the  spring  there 
was  human  destiny  in  its  singing.  The 
first  faint  earthy  smell  mingled  with  the 
spice  of  the  pines,  and  Jarvis  breathed 
deeply  of  its  fragrance. 

Though  the  few  pitiful  household  ef- 


104  Harper's  Novelettes 

fects  of  the  old  man  and  his  daughter 
were  already  packed  and  corded  for  the 
onward  move — the  call  to  remain  not 
having  heen  made  clear  to  Miriam — she 
saw  in  the  return  of  this  solitary  scoffer 
a  manifestation  that  left  no  room  to 
doubt  the  trend  of  duty.  He  had  pre 
sented  himself  shorn  of  all  prankishness. 
There  was  no  mockery  in  the  eyes  that 
met  hers,  no  trace  of  any  cynicism  in  the 
voice  that  asked  for  help. 

"  Could  I  give  it  you,  my  brother," 
and  again  the  quivering  appeal  of  those 
big,  kindly  hands,  that  looked  capable 
of  so  full  a  measure  of  tenderness, 
"could  I  give  you  the  grace  to  see  His 
mercy, — then  indeed  I  would  stay.  But 
if  this  need  of  yours  be  to  make  a  mock 
of  me,  to  give  my  brothers  cause  for  jest 
and  laughter,  then  it  were  better  that 
I  go  to  those  who  have  real  need  of  my 
poor  ministering.".  There  was  no  anger 
in  her  voice,  nor  any  hint  of  wounded 
pride  at  his  failure  to  take  her  preaching 
seriously;  but  only  a  gentle  setting  forth 
of  things  expedient. 

Jarvis  bent  Ms  head.  "  It's  true,  lady, 
I  grinned  last  night  like  a  wolf;  but 
don't  you  know  that  a  man  '11  grin  when 
the  truth  bites  at  his  heart — grin  to  hide 
the  hurt,  that  he  may  not  cry  like  a  baby. 


The  Prophetess  105 

Again  his  eyes  sought  hers  and  held 
them  captive;  she  wrestled  blindly  with 
the  strange  force  in  her  heart,  with  the 
alien  presence  that  had  crept  in  like  a 
thief  in  the  night  and  laid  rough  hands 
on  treasure  that  had  seemed  so  secure. 
She  turned  toward  the  hills — serene  in 
their  strength.  And  all  unconsciously  she 
thought  her  prayer  aloud:  "Lord,  is  it 
I  who  am  about  to  betray  Thee? — To  do 
Thy  will— or  my  will?" 

Jarvis  fell  back.  "  I'm  only  a  black 
sheep,"  he  said,  "  not  worth  saving. 
Them  Injuns  you  spoke  of  are  better 
worth  while."  The  deceptive  humility 
of  the  man,  born  of  a  sudden  revelation 
of  her  character,  carried  the  day.  A  lit 
tle  later  he  won  his  point  and — practical 
ly — the  woman;  but  for  the  moment  he 
had  been  sincere. 

She  gently  dismissed  him  when  his  er 
rand  was  done,  and  no  pretext  that  his 
nimble  wits  could  devise  could  shake  her 
resolution.  But  when  he  had  gone  she 
watched  horse  and  rider  as  they  climbed 
and  dipped  the  trail,  watched  them  till 
they  were  one  with  the  blur  of  the  sky 
line  melting  into  the  blue.  Then  she 
went  far  away  from  the  camp,  and  throw 
ing  herself  face  downward  on  the  earth, 
she  prayed  the  frantic  prayers  of  a  worn- 

8 


io6  Harper's  Novelettes 

an  who  sees  her  little,  every-day,  familiar 
world  blow  away  like  sand  at  the  coming 
of  a  storm. 

Town  awoke  next  morning1  to  find  itself 
conscious  of  heroic  promptings.  It  want 
ed  to  vault  to  its  saddle  and  ride  off  to 
knightly  deeds.  It  did  not  know  in  the 
least  what  was  the  matter  with  it,  but 
separately  and  unitedly  it  was  in  love 
with  the  woman  preacher.  The  doors  of 
Ifagee's  yawned  wide,  but  there  was  no 
coming  nor  going,  and  upon  the  unholy 
little  settlement  rested  a  Sabbath  calm 
such  as  they  remembered  at  home.  The 
mood  of  town  became  contagious;  it 
absorbed  independent  elements  floating 
through  its  dingy  civic  channels,  and 
stamped  them  with  the  current  infection. 
The  fame  of  the  woman  preacher  spread 
to  the  uttermost  eddy  of  the  tiny  settle 
ment;  those  who  had  not  heard  her  were 
swept  up  and  borne  along  on  the  en 
thusiasm  of  those  who  had.  And  town 
presented  the  unprecedented  spectacle  of 
animation  suspended  for  the  great  event 
of  the  day — the  prayer-meeting  on  the 
plain  of  No-Smoke. 

Daily  the  men  presented  themselves 
humbly  as  pilgrims  at  a  shrine.  There 
was  not  one  of  them  who  would  not  cheer 
fully  have  made  a  crony  of  death  for  the 


The  Prophetess  107 

chance  of  her  favor,  and  yet  there  was 
not  one  who  thought  himself  worthy  to 
kiss  the  hem  of  her  garment.  Jarvis, 
be  it  said,  had  no  share  in  these  hu 
milities.  He  thought  himself  worthy  any 
favor  that  his  vandal  hand  might  grasp. 
Women  were  dolls  to  Jarvis — dolls  of 
small  consequence.  For  the  same  reason 
—the  courage  that  rushes  in  and  casteth 
out  fear — it  was  Jarvis  who  elected  to 
act  as  deputy  and  bring  the  gifts  of 
game  to  the  camp.  During  the  visits 
he  managed  to  establish  something  ap 
proaching  intimacy  with  the  old  man. 
He  led  him  to  talk  of  the  days  when  he 
had  been  a  power  in  the  politics  of  the 
corner  store  at  home;  the  days  before 
Miriam  had  sold  their  all  and  gone  to 
preach  in  the  wilderness.  The  old  man 
had  begun  to  look  forward  to  these  vis 
its  of  Jarvis  as  agreeable  intervals 
of  secularity. 

It  had  come  to  be  the  last  day;  the 
prayer-meeting  that  evening  would  bring 
the  week  to  a  close.  Miriam,  spent  with 
the  vigil  of  many  wakeful  nights,  torn 
by  cruel  questionings,  took  her  over 
burdened  spirit  to  the  silent  counsel  of 
the  great,  plain  where  it  gave  to  the 
valley.  Her  resting-place  was  a  giant 
boulder  enshrined  in  the  twilight  of  the 


io8  Harper's  Novelettes 

willow  grove,  which  became  as  the  judg 
ment-seat  to  the  woman  preacher.  There 
were  stern  questionings  to  be  put  by 
Miriam  the  judge,  which  Miriam  the 
woman  must  answer.  An  hour  passed, 
the  inquisition  lagged;  the  judge  came 
down  from  the  bench  and  joined  hands 
with  the  prisoner  in  the  dock,  the  culprit, 
in  whom  there  began  to  grow  a  subdued 
choking  suspense:  "Would  he  come? 
No,  he  could  not  be  coming  or  her  heart 
would  not  drag  like  an  anchored  thing." 
Then,  for  a  moment,  she  saw  the  question 
clearly, — she  had  consented  to  remain 
because  her  will,  fluid,  unstable,  had 
flowed  into  the  mould  of  his  inclination 
like  water  into  a  vessel.  She  shut  her 
eyes  and  prayed  for  strength,  and  when 
she  opened  them  horse  and  rider  stood 
sharp  against  the  sky-line.  The  wisdom 
of  the  judge,  the  perturbation  of  the 
woman,  prompted  nothing  more  than  a 
mouthful  of  futile  incongruous  speeches. 

He  slid  from  his  horse.  There  was 
about  him  the  air  of  one  who  brings 
great  treasure ;  youth  and  spring  and  sun 
shine  and  great  strength  he  seemed  to 
heap  at  her  feet. 

"I've  come  for  my  answer,  Miriam." 
He  took  her  hand  like  a  flower  already 
plucked — a  flower  whose  fragrance  had 


The  Prophetess  109 

grown  to  be  something  of  a  matter  of 
course.  It  was  this  imperious  quality 
that  was  at  the  root  of  Jarvis's  success. 
He  rode  at  life  full  tilt,  the  force  of 
victory  in  his  very  aim.  There  was  no 
time  for  questionings.  The  clatter  of 
his  horse's  hoofs  claimed  attention,  and 
the  beauty,  the  insolence,  the  precision 
of  his  aim  won  the  day. 

He  brushed  aside  her  arguments;  he 
had  not  come  to  listen  to  objections,  but 
to  trample  them  underfoot.  They  loved 
— that  was  the  supreme  answer.  What 
did  they  owe  the  world,  their  world,  a 
handful  of  locoed  cow-punchers, — every 
mother's  son  of  whom  was  in  love  with 
her  and  lacked  the  wit  to  know  it  ?  They 
came  snivelling  after  salvation, — much 
use  they  had  of  it  in  the  lives  they  led. 

Miriam  received  these  statements  as  so 
many  indictments  against  herself.  They 
had  come  to  hear  her,  then,  because  she 
was  a  woman, — of  her  ministerings  there 
had  been  no  need.  She  hung  her  head 
with  the  shame  of  it. 

But  Jarvis  had  again  taken  up  the  reel 
of  his  argument,  flung  it  broadcast,  un 
wound  it  so  swiftly  that  her  dazed  per 
ceptions  could  scarce  follow.  Her  father 
would  be  happier  in  town.  The  make 
shifts  of  the  wagon  life  were  too  hard 


no  Harper's  Novelettes 

on  one  of  his  years.  Leave  him  what 
money  there  was  left,  and  when  they 
should  be  settled  in  California  they 
could  send  for  him.  Her  own  work 
should  go  on;  it  would  be  all  the  better 
for  a  little  happiness.  He  would  lend 
her  gladly  to  her  poor,  to  the  sick,  to 
those  in  tribulation.  She  should  teach 
him  the  secret  of  her  beautiful  serv 
ice, — together  they  would  do  the  work 
she  loved. 

For  one  pitilessly  clear  moment  Miri 
am  saw  the  true  and  the  false  go  up  and 
down  like  buckets  in  a  well.  She  saw 
her  arid  journeyings  over  the  desert,  the 
fretful  complaining  of  her  father,  the 
hunger,  the  thirst,  the  desolation,  the  lit 
tle  done,  the  undone  vast.  And  then 
this  man  had  come  and  held  the  cup  of 
life  enchantingly  to  her  lips,  the  cup 
that  she  must  put  from  her  because  it 
was  unholy. 

But  again  the  man's  voice  was  adjust 
ing  the  balances,  turning  her  little  world 
awry  by  its  potent  sorcery.  And  Miriam 
sat  on  the  judgment-seat,  a  dazed  spec 
tator  at  the  drama  of  her  life.  "  The 
good  that's  in  the  world  when  the  heart 
is  happy!  It  overflows,  my  dear,  like 
that  little  singing  creek  bringing  plenty 
to  the  ranch-lands  below.  I  feel  it  in 


The  Prophetess  ITT 

my  heart,  all  the  generous  promptings 
that" — he  laughed  up  at  her  boyishly — 
"  that  I  ain't  had  a  bowin'  acquaintance 
with  for  years.  Ah,  my  girl,  the  taste 
of  life  had  grown  sour  in  my  mouth 
till  I  heard  your  voice  that  day  on  No- 
Smoke, — the  day  I  grinned,  Miriam — do 
you  remember  ?" 

She  remembered  that,  and  every  mo 
ment  he  had  been  in  her  life  from  that 
first  evening.  They  were  silent,  the 
shadows  were  growing  longer,  the  magic 
of  that  perfect  day  made  the  gift  of 
silent  comradery  an  estimable  estate. 
No-Smoke  had  the  quiescent  delights  of 
the  land  of  lotus. 

And  presently  they  could  hear  the  old 
man's  quavering  treble  calling  for  Miri 
am  from  below. 

"Father  is  calling."  She  sprang  up, 
clutching  at  this  forlorn  hope  of  escape. 
Jarvis  caught  and  crushed  her  to  him : 

"  To-morrow  morning,  at  sunrise,  I'll 
have  the  horses  ready." 

She  struggled  for  a  moment,  like  a 
frantic  child,  then  was  quiet. 

"  To-morrow  morning,  at  sunrise,"  he 
said,  as  one  who  impresses  a  lesson.  And 
she  repeated  the  words  after  him  like  one 
speaking  in  sleep. 

No- Smoke  will  never  forget  that  last 


H2  Harper's  Novelettes 

prayer-meeting1.     They  all  came  but  Jar- 
vis,  who  pleaded  that  he  had  work  to  do, 
and — with  a  shrug — that  he  had  grown 
a  little  tired  of  preaching  petticoats;  so 
they  had  ridden  away  without  him,  while 
the  sun  was  yet  an  hour  high,  in  all  their 
ruffianly    picturesqueness    of    apparel — 
spurs,    sombreros,    cartridge-belts,    shaps, 
and    silk    handkerchiefs    whipping    the 
breeze,  their  faces   as  grave  as  if  their 
errand    had   been    a   lynching.     Miriam 
did  not  keep  them  long  waiting.    She  had 
been  ready,  though  it  was  earlier  by  half 
an  hour  than  the  time  set  for  the  service. 
She  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  left 
as  she  walked  without  a  trace  of  self- 
consciousness  to  the  big  uncovered  wagon 
that  was  to  serve  as  a  pulpit.    The  change 
that  had  come  over  her  in  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours  was   startling.     She  was  no 
longer   the   young   sibyl   whose   heart   is 
wrung  that  she  must  speak  the  sorrowful 
words  of  human  destiny;  she  was  a  wom 
an  who  had  drained  the  chalice  of  living 
to  its  last  dregs;  a  woman  who  looked 
at  them  with  a  face  like  the  worn  bed 
of  a  torrent.     The  golden  quality  of  her 
voice — a  yearning  note  that  sang  beneath 
its  sweetness   and  would  have  been   po 
tent,  to  solace  souls  in  the  pit — had  fled. 
The  prophetess  in  her  had  turned  to  dust 


The  Prophetess  113 

and  ashes.  Her  eyes  were  wide,  as  one 
who  walks  in  sleep,  her  face  had  the 
pallor  of  death,  her  voice  rang  harsh  in 
bitterly  accusing  accents: 

"  For  I  have  sold  Thee,  my  Master,  for  a 
paltrier  thing  than  the  thirty  pieces,  and 
though  my  hands  were  red  I  went  about 
and  made  believe  to  do  Thy  work.  Like 
Judas  I  have  wept  till  mine  eyes  are 
blinded  to  Thy  mercies,  and  no  sound 
comes  to  mine  ears  but  the  wailing  of 
the  damned.  Lift  me  up,  O  God,  lest 
the  waters  of  despair  close  over  me !" 

Once,  twice,  she  swayed;  then  fell  for 
ward.  The  unconsciousness  was  but  mo 
mentary,  for  again  she  faced  them, 
weak  of  body,  but  not  infirm  of  will. 
"  Go,  all  of  you, — you  have  no  need  of 
my  shepherding." 

It  was  dark  on  the  plain  of  No-Smoke. 
The  moon  ploughed  through  a  furrow  of 
blackness,  then  left  the  ungracious  night 
to  its  own  dour  mood.  Very  small  and 
futile  seemed  the  temporary  home-making 
of  the  woman  preacher  on  that  stark, 
lonely  plain.  The  woman  herself  lay  on 
the  piled  bedquilts  within  the  tent,  and 
from  time  to  time  the  old  man  looked  at 
her  with  the  helpless  concern  of  a  child. 
They  were  quite  alone.  But  presently 
she  began  to  turn  restlessly  and,  in  spite 


ii4  Harper's  Novelettes 

of  her  father's  protestations,  to  occupy 
herself  with  domestic  affairs. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?"  he  called,  angrily,  to 
her,  when  he  saw  that  she  had  caught 
the  horses  and  was  harnessing  them  to 
the  wagon.  "  Are  you  stark  mad  to  try  to 
travel  to-night,  when  you  fainted,  and  ben 
making  a  fool  of  yourself  in  the  bargain  ?" 

"  Dear  father,"  she  answered,  with 
loving  forbearance,  "  God  is  leading  us 
away  from  this  dreadful  place.  This 
place  of  temptation.  Only  trust  Him." 
He  watched  her  in  silent  wonder.  But 
a  little  while  and  she  had  been  so 
feeble,  and  now  she  moved  and  did  as 
if  there  had  been  magic  in  her  veins. 
And  presently  all  was  in  readiness 
for  the  exodus.  It  was  the  sick  woman 
who  forced  the  initiative,  who  led  the 
protesting  old  man  to  the  wagon,  helped 
him  in,  put  her  arms  about  him  as  one 
would  soothe  an  ailing  child.  The  horses, 
fresh  from  their  week's  grazing,  tossed 
their  heads  and  sniffed  the  air  in  readi 
ness  for  the  journey.  Eight  iron-shod 
hoofs  struck  sparks  from  the  road  as  they 
sped  across  the  old  snake  trail,  and 
presently  they  came  to  the  fork  of  the 
road,  and  the  lights  of  town  flashed  like 
stars  in  the  purple  west.  The  upper  fork 
led  to  the  solitary  trail  across  the  desert, 


The  Prophetess  115 

across  the  great  white  plains  of  alkali. 
The  lower  fork  dipped  toward  the  town 
with  its  lights  and  human  comradeship. 
But  without  a  moment's  hesitation  the 
woman  took  the  fork  that  led  above  the 
town — and  temptation.  Her  father  had 
dozed  and  wakened,  and  when,  they  were 
well  along  the  desert  road  and  the  lights 
of  town  were  far  behind  he  asked, 

"  Isn't  it  very  dark  on  the  trail, 
Miriam?" 

"  Very  dark  on  the  trail,  father." 


A  Little  Pioneer 

BY  PHILIP  VEBRILL   MIGHELS 

ON    the    autumn    day   when    Nick 
McKey    came    driving    the     bi 
monthly    stage,    full    four    days 
late,    into    Poco    del    Oro    mining-camp, 
with  a  wee  small  child,  hardly  three  years 
of  age,  on  the  seat  up  top  beside  his  dusty 
knee,    the   trials,    tribulations,    and   per 
plexities  of  the  insignificant  community 
were  instantly  augmented, — for  the  new- 
come  little  pilgrim  was  a  girl. 

McKey  approached  the  town  in  the 
late  afternoon,  when  the  toilers  were 
nearly  all  come  down  from  their  hillside 
mining-holes  and  the  major  portion  of 
the  camp's  inhabitants  had  focussed  in 
and  about  the  grocery-post-office-saloon. 

They  took  a  quick,  sharp  look  at 
a  sight  such  as  never  had  been  seen 
in  the  camp  before  —  the  dusty  Nick 
with  a  dusty  little  blue-clad  figure  at  his 
side,  as  the  four  dusty  horses  and  the 
dusty  coach  came  toiling  up  the  final 


A  Little  Pioneer  117 

climb  of  the  highway  to  halt  at  length 
in  their  midst,  And  the  tiny  passenger 
was  as  smiling  and  winning  a  bit  of  in 
nocent,  delighted  femininity  as  any  one 
could  desire. 

"  Well,"  said  a  voice,  "  I'll  be  damned!" 

"  Civilization !"  yelled  another.  "  Hur 
ray  f er  McKey,  a-fetchin'  us  civilization !" 

"  Whoa !"  commanded  the  driver,  kick 
ing  on  his  brake.  "  Shut  up,  you  Grigg ; 
you're  scarin'  the  team.  What's  eatin' 
you,  man?  This  ain't  nuthin'  but  that 
there  William  Scott's  little  gal,  come  by 
reg'lar  express,  accordin'  to  orders." 

"Scott's  little —  Oh!"  said  a  small, 
bearded  man  at  the  wheel  of  the  stage. 
"Why,  Nick,  I'd  clean  forgot.  He  sent 
to  have  her  come,  of  course;  he  told  me 
all  about  it,  Nick ;  but,  say — poor  Scott ! — 
he  died  a  week  ago,  and  natchelly  you 
knowed  nothin'  about  it." 

An  inarticulate  chorus  of  murmurs  in 
the  crowd  made  the  silence  that  followed 
peculiarly  intense. 

"Dead?"  repeated  McKey  at  last. 
"  I've  fetched  her  here,  all  alone  in  the 
world,  and  the  little  gal's  father  is  dead ! 
Scott?  Then  he  wasn't  as  strong  as 
he  looked." 

"  He  was  thin  as  a  pick,"  imparted  the 
small  man,  speaking  with  suppressed  emo- 


nS  Harper's  Novelettes 

firm.  "  It  was  pluck  made  him  look  kind 
of  strong1.  .  .  .  By  gingerbread!  Nick,  I 
wonder  what  we're  goin'  for  to  do?" 

"  'Bout  what  ?"  inquired  a  teamster. 
"  lie's  buried,  Tom,  best  we  could  on  the 
money.  What  more  can  we  do  ?" 

"  I  was  thinkin'  of  this  here  little  ex 
press  passenger,"  answered  Tom;  "the 
little  gal,  arrove  here  all  alone." 

Those  of  the  men  who  were  not  already 
gazing  at  the  child  on  the  seat  above 
their  heads  now  directed  their  attention 
to  her  unanimously.  From  such  a  broad 
side  of  masculine  glances  as  she  now 
found  herself  receiving  the  little  thing 
shrank  a  trifle  against  the  arm  of  McKey, 
whom  she  seemed  to  regard  as  an  institu 
tion  of  security  and  trust.  Despite  her 
slight  confusion,  however,  she  smiled 
upon  every  kindly-looking  person  in  the 
group.  And  what  a  wonderful  bright- 
brown  pair  of  eyes  they  were  from  which 
she  smiled! — roguish,  challenging,  trust 
ful,  unafraid,  and  lustrous  as  jewels  new 
ly  fashioned.  Her  two  little  chubby  hands 
were  busily  twisting  the  hem  of  her 
dusty  blue  dress,  her  two  chubby  legs 
were  straight  out  before  her,  the  worn 
little  shoes  projecting  over  the  edge  of 
the  cushion.  On  her  head  she  wore  a 
faded  brown  woollen  hood,  beneath 


A  Little  Pioneer  119 

the  edge  of  which  the  brightest  and 
lightest  old-gold  curl  of  hair  was  pret 
tily  waiting  to  dance.  Alone  in  the 
mountains  with  all  these  men,  she  seem 
ed  as  happy  and  as  friendly  as  if  her 
one  possible  baby-wish  had  been  granted 
at  once  by  the  goddess  of  chance.  That 
she  could  not  know  of  her  losses  and  her 
plight,  could  not  comprehend  the  talk  of 
the  men  who  blurted  out  the  truth,  was,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  one  touch  of  mercy 
so  far  vouchsafed  her  helpless  babyhood. 

"Kind  of  a  bully  little  gal,"  ventured 
one  of  the  miners. 

"Of  course  she's  a  bully  little  gal," 
replied  the  bearded  Tom  Devoe.  "  But, 
Scott  bein'  gone — ' 

"  That's  it,"  interrupted  the  driver 
from  his  seat.  "  Scott  bein'  gone,  who's 
a-goin'  to  take  the  kid  and  pay?  There's 
two  hundred  dollars  express  charges  for 
bringin'  her  in  from  that  Utah  camp,  for 
it's  near  three  hundred  miles  of  staging 
and  her  sent  forward  by  fast  express,  and 
'  handle  with  care '  told  every  driver,  spe 
cial.  Did  Scott  leave  the  money,  Tom, 
for  to  pay  the  company's  charges  ?" 

"  lie  didn't  leave  money  enough  to  pay 
for  all  we  done  to  make  the  funeral  look 
like  the  genuine  article,"  imparted  Devoe. 
"  I  don't  know  why  he  sent  for  the  pore 


120  Harper's  Novelettes 

little  gal,  except  T  guess  there  was  noth- 
in'  else  to  do;  and  of  course  lie  didn't 
reckon  on  cashin'  in  his  stack  so  sudden. 
You  see,  he  never  had  no  luck,  anyhow. 
Him  and  his  pretty  young  wife  struck 
out  from  down  in  Ohio,  four  years  ago, 
for  to. emigrant  acrost  the  plains  and  git 
to  the  mines  with  a  load  of  things  to  sell 
and  make  a  stake — and  they  jest  about 
had  a  hell  of  a  time,  accordin'  to  some 
ways  of  thinkin'." 

"Don't  be  swearin'  before  the  little 
gal,"  cautioned  the  driver,  who  had 
"  cussed  "  his  team  over  forty  miles  of 
mountain  ruggedness.  "  Go  kind  of  de 
cent, — anyways  for  a  starter.  With  a  boy 
kid  everybody  knows  it's  diff'rent.  That's 
all,  Tom;  go  on  with  your  rat-killin'." 

"  Scuse  me,"  answered  Tom.  "  Well, 
as  I  was  sayin',  first  Scott  got  sick, 
then  his  wife  was  kind  of  ailiii',  and 
up  and  had  a  little  gal  baby  out  on  the 
plains.  Then—" 

"This  here  little  gal?"  interrupted 
Grigg.  "  Little  Civilization  ?" 

"Yep — same  child.  Then  after  that 
they  lost  two  horses  in  the  fordin',  and 
some  of  their  freight  was  burned  at  night 
by  Injuns,  and  some  was  traded  off  for 
hny  and  grub,  and  a  lot  went  to  square 
off  the  doctor  when  the  baby  come  along,— 


A  Little  Pioneer  121 

and  Scott  said  they'd  V  bin  mighty  glad 
to  trade  it  all  for  her;  and  it  took  them 
near  three  years,  after  that,  to  git  to  a 
camp  in  Utah,  and  that's  where  they  quit 
a-goin'  for  a  while,  till  Scott  got  promise 
of  a  job  out  here  in  the  Poco  d'Oro 
mines,  and — " 

"Rottonest  'pology  for  mines  I  ever 
see,"  interpolated  a  listener. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Tom. 
"  Point  is,  Scott  come  on,  leavin'  his  wife 
and  little  gal  behind,  fer  safety  and  fam'- 
ly  comfort,  over  to  that  Utah  camp — and 
it  pretty  soon  no  good  to  stay  in,  after 
the  strike  at  Thunder  River;  and  then 
he's  gittin'  news  that  Mrs.  Scott  was 
sick,  and  later  she  was  dead,  and  the 
baby  took  by  strangers.  So  Scott  he  sent 
to  have  her  come,  and  here  she  is." 

"  Yes — and  two  hundred  dollars  express 
charges,  c.  o.  d.,"  added  McKey.  "And 
who's  a-goin'  to  pungle  up  the  same  ?" 

There  were  many  "  ahems "  to  break 
an  otherwise  impressive  silence. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  take 
her  back — no  place  to  take  her,"  ventured 
Devoe.  "  Too  pretty  to  take  back,  any 
how.  I'd  hate  to  see  you  takin'  the  little 
thing  away,"  and  he  looked  at  the  child 
with  a  species  of  hunger  in  his  eyes.  "  I 
ain't  jest  got  the  money,"  Torn  confessed. 

9 


122  Harper's  Novelettes 

"  If  there's  anybody  else — "  and  he  looked 
about  in  the  knot  of  men,  only  to  find  the 
attention  of  each  one  suddenly  engrossed 
with  something  personal. 

Unfortunately,  Poco  del  Oro  had  been 
more  or  less  of  a  false  alarm.  Its  wealth 
was  still  to  be  uncovered.  Its  first  excite 
ment  had  been  dead  a  year,  and  many  of 
its  early  population  had  departed.  There 
was  not  a  single  family  of  man,  wife, 
and  children  in  the  place.  There  was 
one  good  young  woman  remaining — Mis 
tress  Nancy  Dunn,  the  daughter  of  Dunn 
who  hauled  in  wood  from  the  habitable 
world, — and  she  had  said  her  nay  to  the 
marriage  proposal  of  nearly  every  man 
in  town.  To  little  Tom  Devoe  she  had 
answered  thus  no  less  than  thrice,  on  the 
last  occasion  lending  a  species  of  em 
phasis  to  her  decision  by  dashing  a 
bucketful  of  water  in  her  suitor's  face, 
— with  water  at  ten  cents  a  gallon. 

Tom  was  reflectively  dwelling  on 
Nancy's  charms,  despite  his  recent  dis 
couragements.  He  even  saw  new  glim 
merings  of  hope  as  he  gazed  fondly  up 
at  Scott's  little  gal,  smiling  in  coyness 
down  upon  him. 

"Well — Nick — if  only  I  could  borrow 
the  money,  why,  perhaps — "  he  faltered, 
and  again  he  left  his  sentence  in  the  air. 


A  Little  Pioneer  123 

"Borry?  Haw!"  said  a  voice,  and  a 
few  men  guffawed. 

"What's  her  name?"  inquired  a  spec 
tator. 

"Nancy,"  answered  Tom,  in  his  pass 
ing  abstraction. 

"  Haw !"  repeated  that  raucous  voice. 

"We  know  'bout  that  old  game;  but 
I  mean  the  little  gal's,"  explained  the 
interrogator.  "  What's  the  little  gal's 
name  ?" 

"  Her  folks,"  said  Devoe,  "  they  named 
her  Prairie,  fer  where  she  was  born. 
She's  a  regular  little  pioneer;  and  I'd 
hate  to  see  her  took  away  from  here." 

"  Cash  down,  or  return  the  shipment — 
them's  the  orders  on  all  the  c.  o.  d.'s," 
observed  the  driver,  once  again.  "  I 
ain't  been  drivin'  long,  perhaps,  but  I 
know  the  rules — sometimes.  So,  Tom, 
if  you  want  to  keep  the  little  passenger — 

"I'd  like  to  see  her  stay,  first  rate," 
said  Tom,  whose  hunger  for  children  was 
growing  apace.  "  There's  no  place  to 
take  her  if  you  fetch  her  back.  .  .  .  Say, 
Nick,  couldn't  you  leave  her  on  thirty 
days'  trial?  Eegular  thing  for  every  ex 
press  to  leave  things  on  trial.  You  see, 
you  could  leave  little  Prairie  that  way, 
and  after  thirty  days — why,  either  we'd 
pay  the  two  hundred,  or —  We'd  know 


i2.|  Harper's  Novelettes 

more  about  things  than  we  know  jest  now, 
dead  sure.  You  see,  Nick,  it  ain't  like 
as  if  'twas  a  boy.  You  never  can  tell 
about  gals.  But  you  jest  leave  her  with 
me  on  thirty  days'  trial,  for  fun." 

Nick  scratched  the  back  of  his  head. 

"  It  sounds  like  it  might  be  'cordin'  to 
some  of  the  rules  I've  heard,"  said  he. 
"  I  know  I've  heard  'bout  sech  an  arrange 
ment  somewheres  or  other;  but,  Tom,  I'd 
have  to  ask  Barney  to  ask  ole  Pete  to  ask 
young  Tomkins  to  ask  the  company's 
agent,  down  to  the  end  of  Stetson's  run." 

"All  right,"  Tom  agreed.  "You  can 
leave  her  with  me  on  that  understandin'." 

The  tiny  passenger,  sitting  all  this 
while  at  the  driver's  side,  was  duly  re 
moved  from  the  seat.  She  stuck  like  a 
bur  to  McKey's  dusty  coat  and  had  to 
be  taken  off  with  care.  Nevertheless,  as 
a  bur  will  stick  impartially  to  the  very 
next  garment  presenting  an  opportuni 
ty,  she  adhered  to  the  faded  green  of 
Devoe's  old  vest  with  ready  cheer  and 
friendliness,  looking  back  at  the  driver 
without  a  reproach  from  her  newly  ac 
quired  situation. 

A  subtle  ecstasy  spread  throughout 
Tom  Devoe's  being  as  he  felt  the  warm 
little  burden  on  his  arm;  and  away  to  his 
little  shack  he  trudged  in  triumph. 


A  Little  Pioneer  125 

The  time  for  men  to  become  solicitous 
concerning  the  management  of  property 
is  the  moment  in  which  some  other  in 
dividual  acquires  the  property  in  ques 
tion.  There  were  six  worthy  citizens  of 
Poco  del  Oro  whose  growing  anxiety 
over  the  rearing  of  little  Prairie  Scott 
became  so  acute,  that  very  first  evening 
of  the  tiny  girl's  arrival,  that  a  visit  to 
her  newest  home  became  absolutely  im 
perative.  They  moved  on  the  cabin  in 
a  body. 

The  shack  was  half  a  dugout,  half 
a  structure,  the  front  elevation  being 
fashioned  of  barrel  -  staves,  cleverly 
lapped  and  securely  hammered  to  a  frame 
work  of  beams.  It  possessed  a  window 
with  a  broken  glass,  and  a  solid  maple 
door,  brought  straight  from  New  York  by 
way  of  San  Francisco  and  the  isthmus, 
and  sold  to  build  a  house  around  in  any 
known  style  of  the  art.  A  dim  red  light 
was  shown  in  the  window  as  the  men 
came  boldly  to  the  place.  Just  at  the 
moment  of  their  arrival  a  fearful  din  and 
clatter  within  the  cabin  abruptly  as 
saulted  the  silence. 

"  There !"  said  the  muffled  voice  of 
Tom.  "  Ain't  you  busy  ?" 

The  men  went  in.  Little  Prairie  was 
there.  She  had  just  succeeded  in  drag- 


126  Harper's  Novelettes 

ging  down  a  large  collection  of  pots  and 
pans,  all  of  them  laden  with  rich,  greasy 
soot.  For  herself,  she  was  generously 
daubed  with  black  from  head  to  foot, 
particularly  as  to  hands  and  face. 

Tom  was  looking  at  her  helplessly.  He 
seemed  relieved  at  beholding  the  number 
and  size  of  his  visitors. 

"  Darn'dest  little  kid  I  ever  saw,"  said 
he.  "  She's  burned  up  one  of  my  boots 
already,  and  spoiled  my  dress-up  pants, 
and  broke  my  gun.  Awful  healthy  little 
kid — awful  ambitious  and  willin'.  .  .  . 
But  she  sort  of  likes  old  Tom." 

The  little  object  of  his  summary  ap 
peared  to  comprehend  that  something  was 
due  to  Tom  by  way  of  establishing  her 
compensating  virtues.  She  came  towards 
him  enthusiastically  and  threw  her  arms 
about  his  knees. 

"  Baby— yoves  —  ole  —  Tom,"  she  an 
nounced,  in  broken  accents  of  sincerity. 
"  Baby — do — yove — ole — Tom." 

Tom  caught  her  up,  and  she  clutched 
his  beard  in  both  her  sooty  hands,  arid 
smiled  in  his  eyes  bewitchingly. 

"It's  lucky  your  house  is  pretty 
strong,"  remarked  one  of  the  visiting 
contingent.  "I  kin  see  you're  goin'  to 
raise  her  up  deestructive." 

"You    can't    begin    readiii'    her    nice 


A  Little  Pioneer  127 

gentle  stories  a  minute  too  soon,"  add 
ed  another.  "Have  you  got  the  Bun 
ion's  Progress,  by  a  feller  named  Mr. 
Christian?" 

"Keadin'?"  said  the  camp's  profound- 
est  pessimist,  scornfully.  "  What  she 
wants  is  work.  Leave  her  chop  the  wood ; 
that  '11  gentle  her  down." 

"  Say !  do  you  think  this  child  is  anoth 
er  of  them  dead-from-workin'  wives  of 
your'n?"  demanded  Devoe,  indignantly. 
"If  you  fellers  came  here  to  pesterfy 
and  try  to  run  the  show,  why,  you're  jest 
a  mite  too  late,  boys.  Savvy?  I  reckon 
this  here  cat-hop  kind  of  elects  me  gen 
eral  sup'intendent." 

Civilization  Grigg  was  one  of  the 
visitors.  He  stood  there  in  rapture, 
gazing  on  tlie  child,  his  nature  yearn 
ing  for  a  small  caress. 

"We  only  come  to  offer  a  few  kind 
and  useful  suggestions,"  he  now  ex 
plained.  "  That's  all." 

"You  can  leave  out  the  kind  ones," 
Tom  replied.  "  I  never  heard  no  '  kind ' 
suggestions  yet  that  wasn't  ground  pretty 
sharp  on  two  or  three  edges." 

"  Biggest  lot  of  cheek  I  ever  see," 
grumbled  the  pessimist.  "If  it  gits  any 
bigger  it  '11  crowd  the  mountains  off 
the  camp." 


128  Harper's  Novelettes 

"  Well,  don't  you  hang  around  and  git 
made  uncomfortable  when  it  happens," 
answered  Devoe.  "How  about  that,  lit 
tle  honey?" 

"Baby — do — yove — ole — Tom,"  the  tot 
repeated,  smearing  his  neck  with  a  sooty 
essence  of  her  growing  affection  as  she 
gave  him  an  enviable  hug. 

Those  of  the  men  who  had  not  dis 
covered  seats  upon  arriving  now  sat  in 
the  bunk  at  the  end  of  the  room.  Four 
of  the  half-dozen  visitors  were  desperate 
ly  seining  their  minds  to  net  some  small 
remark  that  would  sound  as  if  they  real 
ly  knew  a  baby  from  a  grindstone. 

"Well— 'hem!"  said  Billy  Partridge, 
the  smallest  man  in  town, — "the  only 
thing  I  thought  of,  Tom,  was  the  climate. 
Are  you  dead-certain  sure  this  climate 
is  just  exactly  right  to  raise  up  a  girl 
youngster  into?" 

"Certain!"  said  Tom,  with  ready  con 
viction.  "  Climate  is  generally  pretty 
decent  anywheres  till  it  gits  sort  of 
sp'iled  by  too  many  people  cussin'  at  it, 
night  and  day.  But  there  ain't  men  or 
wimmin  enough  in  all  Nevady  yet  to 
swear  this  climate  sour." 

"I  ain't  seen  a  baby  for  so  long,  I 
couldn't  tell  laughin'  from  cry-in',"  con 
fessed  big  Dan  White.  "  I  used  to  know 


A  Little  Pioneer  129 

how  to  hold  one,  Tom,  and  maybe  I  ain't 
forgot."  lie  came  towards  little  Prairie 
tentatively.  "  Want  to  take  an  assay 
of  me?"  he  inquired,  and  he  held  forth 
his  arms  invitingly. 

The  youngster  looked  at  him  gravely, 
then  snuggled  coyly  up  to  Tom  and 
smiled  like  a  born  coquette. 

"  Guess  not,"  decided  Dan ;  but  no 
sooner  were  his  arms  again  at  his  side 
than  Prairie  made  overtures  to  lure  him 
back.  He  took  her,  somewhat  clumsily, 
and  yet  with  a  knowledge  of  the  business. 
Then,  when  he  had  her,  he  knew  not 
what  to  say. 

"You're  doin'  pretty  fancy,  Miss 
Scott,"  he  informed  her  presently,  and 
carried  her  over  to  the  window. 

Tom  commenced  to  restore  a  sem 
blance  of  order  in  the  cabin. 

"A  woman  ain't  never  so  young  she 
can't  raise  hell  in  about  two  minutes," 
he  observed,  as  a  generalization,  and 
sagely  he  added,  "  That's  one  of  the  rea 
sons  we  like  'em." 

"Bad  sign  when  a  gal  kid  takes  too 
sudden  to  strangers,"  grumbled  the  pessi 
mist.  "  When  I  was  a  child — " 

"  You  never  was  no  child,"  interrupted 
Devoe.  "You  was  born  so  old  you  was 
already  gittin'  fermented." 


130  Harper's  Novelettes 

Dan  White  had  thought  of  another  bit 
of  information  to  impart  to  little  Prairie. 

"Miss  Scott,  this  weather  is  gen'ral 
throughout  the  United  States  and  Can- 
ady,"  said  he ;  "  raw,  with  westerly  wind." 

"Yes,  and  that  reminds  me,  I've  got 
to  cut  up  some  wearin'  apparel  and  make 
her  a  warm  woollen  dress,"  said  the 
practical  Tom,  who  thereupon  produced 
scissors,  needles,  thread,  a  sailmaker's 
"palm,"  in  lieu  of  a  thimble,  and  the 
faded  magenta  garment  he  had  in  his 
mind  to  convert  to  brand-new  usefulness. 
"I  long  ago  found  out,"  he  concluded, 
"  that  charity  often  begins  at  the  tail 
of  a  shirt  that's  worn  out  higher  up." 

He  now  had  White  place  the  young 
ster  on  the  floor  while  he  "  sized  her 
up  "  for  the  dress  that  was  to  be.  She 
Started  away,  when  the  measuring  was 
finished,  to  make  her  fiftieth  tour  of 
the  cabin. 

"  Regular  born  prospector,"  Tom  ob 
served,  as  he  watched  her  going.  "  Never 
saw  her  equal  in  the  world.  Samples 
everything  in  sight  in  about  two  bats  of 
your  eye." 

The  small  "  pioneer "  stumbled  flat 
across  some  obstruction  on  the  floor,  but 
was  not  in  the  least  disconcerted.  She 
stood  on  her  head  and  feet  for  a  mo- 


A  Little  Pioneer  131 

ment,  regaining  her  perpendicular  in 
youngster  fashion,  and  finding  that  one 
of  her  shoes  was  holding  down  a  soft, 
dark  something  that  she  wanted,  she  stood 
there  solidly  and  pulled  at  the  object 
with  all  her  sturdy  might.  It  presently 
tore,  and  so  came  up  about  her  chubby 
leg,  her  foot  having  cleaved  through  the 
substance.  Encased  as  it  were  in  this 
ring  that  would  not  release  her  knee,  she 
approached  her  foster-father  laboriously. 

"Tate  it  off,"  she  requested.  "Tom, 
tate  it  off." 

"  What  is  it,  then?"  said  the  busy  Tom. 
"  Why — it  must  be  somebody's  hat !" 

The  pessimist  snatched  it,  somewhat 
excitedly.  "  Mine — and  plumb  ruined 
forever!"  he  said.  "Stay  here?  me? — 
in  your  shack,  with  such  a  child  as 
that?  Not  for  a  million  in  gold!  A 
terrible,  devastatin'  scourge!"  and  out  of 
the  cabin,  in  anger,  he  went,  and  slammed 
the  door  behind  him. 

But  the  others,  when  they  finally  de 
parted  from  the  shack,  went  forth  with 
a  quieter  spirit. 

"You  mark  my  word,  the  wonderful 
men  was  all  of  ?em  little,"  said  Partridge. 
"There  was  little  old  Bony  Napoleon, 
and  now  here's  Tom  Devoe." 

No  corner  of  the  earth  is  so  remote 


132  Harper's  Novelettes 

that  a  man  may  forever  escape  a  visit 
from  desperation.  Even  Tom  Devoe  was 
receiving  marked  attentions  from  this 
brother-in-fact  of  common  worry. 

It  was  not  in  the  matter  of  sewing, 
cooking,  or  amusing  that  Tom  found  his 
resources  lacking;  it  all  lay  in  something 
ascribable  to  things  feminine  that  trou 
bles  seemed  to  hover  over  the  cabin. 
Tom  had  made  the  dress,  and  made  it 
well.  He  had  a  skill  as  fine  as  a  woman's 
with  his  scissors  and  his  threads,  and 
he  had  the  loving  wish  that  prompts 
domestic  energy.  He  had  made  little 
stockings  and  a  "nightie,"  warm  as 
toast.  He  was  making  little  leather 
boots,  already  painted  brilliant  red,  and 
as  crude  in  construction  as  they  were 
gaudy  in  decoration;  and  other  things 
he  had  in  process  of  planning;  neverthe 
less  there  were  family  cares  that  baffled 
his  "  motherly  "  possibilities. 

For  the  fourth  time  he  sought  Miss 
Nancy's  presence.  She  had  heard  all 
about  the  thirty-day  trial  of  the  child, 
and  the  look  on  the  face  of  her  suitor 
when  he  came  was  a  sign  she  read  with 
ease.  The  "  trial "  was  growing  intense. 

"  You  ain't  been  around  to  see  the  lit 
tle  pioneer,"  said  he.  "I  kind  of  ex 
pected  you'd  sort  of  float  around." 


A  Little  Pioneer  133 

"I  ain't  lost  no  double-orphan  chil 
dren,"  said  Nancy,  "and  they  ain't  no 
great  curiosity." 

"They  are  when  they've  got  a  single 
man  for  a  father  and  mother,"  answered 
Tom.  "And  she'd  be  a  curiosity  any 
how,  you  bet!  She's  wonderful  healthy 
and  willin'.  You  really  ought  to  see  her, 
jest  for  fun." 

"  It's  more  fun  guessin'  what  you  come 
here  for  to-night,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes 
were  snappily  bright. 

Tom  wriggled  on  his  chair  uneasily. 
He  knew  her  guessing  of  old. 

"Well,  then— 'hem!"  he  faltered,  col 
oring  yet  more  red  beneath  his  florid 
complexion, — "are  you — goin'  for  to  say 
you'll  up  and  do  it,  Nancy  ? — hey  ?" 

"  No,  I  ain't  goin'  to  up  and  do  it,  nor 
down  and  do  it,  neither,"  she  told  him, 
with  decision.  "  I  told  you  so  before." 

"Yes,  but  this  time  you  git  a  chance 
to  be  a  mother  right  from  the  jump,"  he 
argued,  soberly.  "  Ain't  that  something  ?" 

"No,  it  ain't.  No  second-hand  moth 
er  for  me,"  she  said.  "I  reckon  I'll  be 
the  mother  of  my  own  bawlin'  kids  when 
I  start." 

"She  ain't  a  great  one  to  cry,"  Tom 
hastened  to  impart.  "I'll  guarantee  to 
git  up  nights  and  walk  her  if  she  cries. 


134  Harper's  Novelettes 

Come  on,  INTancy,  be  a  real  nice  gal 
and  say  you  will.  Your  father's  per 
fectly  willin'." 

"Didn't  I  say  no?"  she  demanded. 
"  My  father,  hey  ?  Because  he  can't  git 
away  with  my  little  sack  of  money  he'd 
let  me  marry  any  decent  man  in  camp, 
and  then  sit  down  and  wait  to  see  if  my 
lovely  husband  could  git  those  three  hun 
dred  dollars.  No,  sir,  I  won't,  I  won't,  I 
won't,  and  that's  where  the  story  says 
F-i-n-i-s — with  the  h  left  off  every  time. 
So  you  might  as  well  go  home  and  forget 
you  came." 

"If  you'd  seen  the  little  gal  you'd 
answer  different,"  said  Devoe,  persistent 
ly.  "  Hadn't  you  better  see  her  first?" 

"I've  seen  her,  don't  you  worry,"  an 
swered  Miss  Dunn.  "  What  do  you  think 
I  am?  And  don't  I  know  that  seven 
days  have  gone  already,  and  only  twenty- 
three  more  is  left  of  your  thirty,  and  you 
thought  you'd  marry  me  and  git  my 
money  to  pay  them  two  hundred  dollars, 
c.  o.  d.,  at  the  end  of  the  time?  I  said 
I  won't,  and  now  you  git,  Tom  Devoe, 
for  I  ain't  got  time  to  hear  you  talk." 

"All  right,'r  said  Tom;  "but  you're 
?way  off  your  boundaries  concernin'  your 
money.  I  never  had  no  idea  in  the  world 
of  askin'  you  to  pay  up  the  charges." 


A  Little  Pioneer  135 

This  was  the  truth.  He  had  well- 
nigh  forgotten  that  thirty-day  condition 
and  the  price  still  due  for  retaining  lit 
tle  Prairie.  He  went  away  from  Nancy's 
with  a  large  new  collection  of  worries. 

It  was  raining  and  blowing  together 
that  night,  but  he  seemed  to  be  oblivious 
of  everything.  A  warm  little  stove  in  his 
heart  was  glowing  cheerily  so  soon  as  he 
came  to  his  house. 

And  inside  the  place  big  Dan  White 
had  the  baby  on  his  knee. 

"  Miss  Scott,"  he  said,  as  Tom  entered, 
"  this  storm  is  gen'ral  throughout  the 
United  States  and  Canady." 

The  following  week  there  was  snow  on 
the  ground,  and  little  Miss  Scott,  not  a 
whit  less  busy  for  the  chill,  got  lost  for 
an  hour  in  the  nearest  drift,  and  nearly 
froze  her  tiny  feet.  She  developed  a  cold 
and  a  croupy-sounding  cough  that  fright 
ened  poor  Tom  half  to  death. 

It  was  when  that  tiny  cold  was  two 
days  old  and  Prairie  was  ill  and  listless 
and  weak,  no  longer  blithesomely  "  dee- 
structive,"  but  needing  such  a  tender  love 
and  care  as  only  a  woman  may  bestow, 
that  Tom's  desperation  reached  its  cul 
minating  -  point.  He  feared  the  little 
pioneer  was  perhaps  already  dying;  and 


136  Harper's  Novelettes 

then  the  man  was  suddenly  prepared  for 
any  deed  of  daring. 

"  My  poor  little  gal  has  got  to  have  a 
mother,"  he  declared.  "  It  ain't  been 
fair;  it  ain't  been  right;  and  now 
it's  gone  too  far.  She's  goin'  to  have 
whatever  there  is  in  this  here  Poco 
d'Oro  camp,  if  it  takes  a  gun  to  clinch 
the  point." 

He  strapped  on  a  mighty  revolver,  full 
of  lead  and  dirty  black  powder,  and 
marched  him  straight  to  the  home  of 
Nancy  Dunn. 

"  We're  goin'  to  git  married — right 
now,"  said  he,  "  so,  Nancy — put  on  your 
duds." 

Miss  Dunn  was  tremendously  amazed. 
She  was  also  a  little  alarmed. 

"  Why  —  you,  Tom  Dcvoe  —  you're 
crazy!"  she  stammered.  "Why,  what  do 
you — mean  ?  You  know  I — said  I  would 
n't,  and—" 

"  Yep !  I  know  what  you  said,"  he 
interrupted,  drawing  his  gun  with  a 
shaking  hand,  "  but  you're  goin'  to  change 
your  mind,  and  change  it  quick.  That 
pore  little  motherless  child,  she's  goin'  to 
have  a  woman  for  to  love.  She's  goin' 
to  have  some  proper  care.  She's  goin' 
to  have  a  decent  show  to  live  and  grow 
up  proper — savvy  that  ?  And  you  are  the 


A  Little  Pioneer  137 

one  decent  girl  in  the  camp,  and  you  and 
me  is  a-goin'  to  go  and  git  married — 
that's  the  game.  You  put  on  your  hat, 
or  come  along  without,  for  we're  goin' 
right  now  to  Justice  Knapp." 

Nancy  had  long  been  accustomed  to 
pistols,  but  never  before  had  she  seen 
one  in  this  awful  threatening  aspect,  its 
bullets  so  terribly  obvious,  its  muzzle  so 
blankly  centred  on  her  face.  She  looked 
at  it  nervously,  then  at  the  eyes  behind 
it — the  two  eyes  grown  desperate  and 
marked  with  signs  of  worry. 

She  feared  the  man  more  than  the 
weapon — and  she  feared  those  bullets  hor 
ribly.  She  put  on  her  bonnet,  shaking 
in  fright  all  the  while.  Her  impulse 
was  to  cry,  but  all  her  crying  faculties 
were  shrinking  down  in  terror.  As  one 
no  longer  consulted  by  her  own  volition, 
she  went  from  the  door. 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  hold  this  gun  on  you 
constant,"  Tom  informed  her,  indulgent 
ly,  trembling  himself,  "but  don't  you 
try  no  shenanigan,  not  for  a  minute!" 

In  silence  they  wended  their  way  to 
the  home  of  the  justice  of  the  peace. 
Briefly  and  promptly,  despite  Miss 
Nancy's  reluctance,  the  old  -  fashioned, 
time-honored  formula  for  making  a  unit 
out  of  two  warring  individuals  was  pro- 


138  Harper's  Novelettes 

nounced,  after  which,  still  awed  and 
paralyzed  with  fear,  the  new-made  wife 
was  led  quietly  away. 

Convoyed  by  her  armed  and  sinister 
husband,  Nancy  went  with  him  quite  to 
his  shack.  But  she  took  not  so  much 
as  a  look  at  little  Prairie,  lying  in  a 
blanket  before  the  open  fire,  engrossed 
as  she  was  in  watching  Tom.  No  sooner 
had  he  laid  off  his  huge  revolver  than 
she  pounced  upon  it  and  threw  it  out  of 
the  window,  where  it  disappeared  in  a 
drift  of  snow.  Then  ensued  a  brief, 
sharp  denouement,  after  which  the  door 
was  wrenched  wildly  open  and  out  ran 
the  bride,  leaving  Tom,  bewildered  and 
dazed,  sitting  on  the  floor,  with  just  a 
ragged  piece  of  calico  in  his  hand  as  a 
souvenir  of  a  quick  divorce. 

That  night  all  the  story  was  old  in  the 
camp;  and  big  Dan  White,  when  he  came 
to  Tom's,  saw  signs  of  resignation  to  a 
life  of  single  blessedness  depicted  large 
upon  the  homely  countenance  of  the 
whilom  groom. 

"  Have  you  heerd  from  Nancy  this 
evenin'  ?"  he  said.  "  How  was  she  at 
last  accounts?" 

"  Pursuin'  the  even  terror  of  her 
ways,"  said  Tom,  "jest  about  the  same 
as  before." 


A  Little  Pioneer  139 

"Well,"  reflected  Dan,  "you  can  take 
a  horse  to  the  crick,  Tom,  of  course — " 

"  I  know,"  said  Tom ;  "  I  know  all  about 
that  part  which  says  you  can't  make  him 
drink — and,  Dan,  if  the  horse  is  a  mare 
— she'll  prob'ly  throw  you  down  and  run 
away  into  the  bargain." 

Miss  Prairie  Scott  was  only  half-way 
her  "healthy  and  willin' "  little  self, 
after  five  long  days  of  cold  and  fever  and 
masculine  care,  and  Tom  was  attempting 
to  lighten  her  life  with  tales  of  her 
"  mother's  "  shocking  conduct,  when  the 
dark  wing  of  fate  was  suddenly  over  the 
cabin,  obscuring  all  the  light. 

The  bimonthly  stage  was  once  more  in 
town,  and  with  it  had  come  a  harsh  de 
cree.  The  mighty  express  corporation 
had  forwarded  a  quick  decision  in  the 
case  of  Tom's  small  pioneer.  The  two 
hundred  dollars  "  charges  "  for  her  trans 
portation  as  an  express  parcel  must  be 
paid  without  another  day's  delay,  or  the 
child  must  be  immediately  taken  away 
and  delivered  to  the  company's  agent, 
three  hundred  miles  towards  the  east. 

Devoe  heard  the  "  sentence "  like  one 
in  a  trance.  He  had  put  off  the  thought 
of  the  whole  affair  till  his  full  thirty  days 
should  be  counted.  He  was  dazed  thus 


140  Harper's  Novelettes 

to  find  himself  obliged  to  face  the  crisis 
prematurely.  The  driver  now  come  was 
a  man  unknown  to  Tom  or  any  of  his 
friends.  But,  for  that  matter,  friendship 
could  hardly  have  availed  to  alter  the 
company's  attitude  of  relentlessness. 

"I'll  try  to  hustle  the  money,"  said 
Devoe.  "I  couldn't  let  the  baby  go. 
Why,  man,  she'd  die.  She  couldn't  make 
a  trip  like  that  such  weather  as  this,  and 
her  jest  pickin'  up  a  little  after  bein' 
pretty  sick.  I  couldn't  leave  her  go." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  suddenly 
sick  throughout  his  entire  system.  It 
was  one  worry  more  than  he  could  readily 
bear.  His  own  little  hoard  contained  ex 
actly  thirty-five  dollars;  and  how  many 
friends  could  he  count  on  here  in  this 
poor  little  worked-out  camp,  where  he 
and  others  were  hanging  on  from  sheer 
force  of  habit  and  hope  ? 

He  thought  of  defiance,  of  thrusting  a 
pistol  in  the  driver's  face  and  bidding 
him  run  for  his  life.  He  thought  of 
flight,  with  the  child  in  his  arms,  across 
the  hills  to  a  western  town.  The  huge 
barrier  of  mountains,  now  white  with 
snow  and  chill  with  icy  blasts,  rose  be 
fore  him,  silent,  forbidding. 

Of  all  the  six  worthy  citizens  who  had 
taken  an  interest  sufficient  to  cause  them 


A  Little  Pioneer  141 

to  visit  the  small  pioneer,  there  were  only 
four  who  could  lend  assistance  in  raising 
a  fund  to  defray  those  appalling  charges. 
Civilization  Grigg,  who  builded  with 
mud,  had  fifteen  dollars  in  all  the  world. 
He  gave  the  entire  sum.  Billy  Partridge 
could  spare  but  an  even  five.  The  pessi 
mist,  masking  his  feeling  behind  a  growl, 
came  along  with  eight  silver  dollars;  and 
big  Dan  White  gave  all  he  would  have 
for  a  month,  and  it  counted  twenty-two. 
The  total  amount  in  the  fund  was  eighty- 
five  dollars.  It  lacked  just  one  hundred 
and  fifteen  dollars  of  being  sufficient — 
and  resources  thoroughly  exhausted. 

Tom,  Dan,  Partridge — even  the  pessi 
mist — all  the  worried  clan  spent  the  re 
mainder  of  the  day  attempting  to  bribe 
the  driver  to  take  their  all  and  leave 
the  child  in  camp.  He  was  harder  than 
iron,  in  a  quiet,  decent  way  of  unanswer 
able  logic  that  left  the  group  at  the  cabin 
baffled  and  hopeless. 

"I'll  come  here  and  git  her  in  the 
morning,"  he  said,  and  the  long,  cold 
night  descended  on  the  camp. 

The  morning  came,  and  with  it  no  so 
lution.  Out  of  a  flawless  sky  the  sun 
was  shining  on  a  world  of  mountains 
dazzling  white  in  the  snow.  The  wheels 
of  the  swiftly  approaching  stage  made 


142  Harper's  Novelettes 

creaking  notes  as  crisp  as  those  of  a 
violin.  The  men  inside  the  cabin  heard 
the  sound  with  dread. 

Out  in  his  shirt-sleeves  went  Devoe, 
his  eyes  dull  red  from  sleeplessness.  Be 
side  him  stood  his  friends. 

"Shaw,"  he  said  to  the  driver,  "the 
little  gal's  inside  the  shack — and  that's 
where  she  ought  to  be  left,  or  God  Al 
mighty's  made  a  big  mistake.  God  Al 
mighty,  I  say.  He  gave  this  little  kid 
to  me,  as  sure  as  He  ever  done  anything 
good  on  earth.  He  knowed  she  didn't 
have  a  decent  friend  in  all  this  country, 
and  He  gave  her  to  me  to  care  for.  You 
couldn't  take  her  off,  and  maybe  see  her 
die;  you  ain't  got  the  heart  for  to  do  it. 
Here's  all  the  money  we  kin  raise — it's 
eighty-five  dollars,  and  nearly  half  the 
charges.  Take  that  and  ask  the  company 
if  they  can't  let  off  a  little  kid  for  less 
than  the  whole  two  hundred.  If  she 
hadn't  come  by  express,  the  stage  fare 
wouldn't  'a'  bin  more  than  fifty  dollars." 

"  Devoe,"  replied  the  driver,  "  don't 
talk  this  all  over  again.  I  hate  to  tell 
you  no  a  thousand  times.  And  I've  got 
to  make  a  start." 

Tom  looked  weak  and  pale.  His  mind 
refused  to  conjure  up  another  word  of 
argument. 


A  Little  Pioneer  143 

"  She'll  have  to  be  wrapped  real  warm," 
he  said,  and  as  one  hard  hit  and  no  longer 
able  to  think  or  resist  he  turned  towards 
the  house. 

The  pessimist  growled  at  the  driver  in 
accents  of  biting  sarcasm  as  vain  as  they 
were  unique. 

When  Tom  came  out  of  the  house, 
with  the  child  on  his  arm,  she  was  lov 
ingly  patting  his  cheek. 

"  Baby — do  —  yove  —  ole  —  Tom,"  she 
said,  in  her  honest  little  coo. 

The  man's  knees  nearly  gave  way  be 
neath  him. 

"  I  can't  let  her  go — I  can't  give  her 
up,"  he  said  to  them  all.  "Boys — I'm 
goin'  to  pay  my. fare  and  go  along.  I'll 
work  for  her  hard — I'll  work  off  the 
charges — I'll  git  her  all  for  my  own — and 
some  day  maybe  we'll  come  back.  I'll — 

He  paused,  and  the  baby  lifted  her 
pretty  little  head  to  listen  to  something 
in  the  passing  breath  of  frost.  It  came 
from  the  rear  of  the  cabin,  a  brisk  creak, 
creak  on  the  snow. 

Then  suddenly,  running  in  breathless 
haste,  from  around  the  corner  of  the 
shack  came  Nancy  Dunn,  her  hair  brown- 
ly  flying  in  the  crystal  air,  her  eyes  ablaze 
with  eagerness. 

"Here,"    she   panted    at    the   driver — 


144  Harper's  Novelettes 

"here's  your  two  hundred  dollars — here 
it  is!  Take  it — take  it — you  can't — you 
can't  have — the  baby !" 

For  a  moment  there  was  absolute 
silence. 

"  Well — now — how's  this  ?"  inquired 
the  startled  driver.  "  Who  are  you  ?" 

"I'm  Tom's— I'm  Mrs.  Devoe,"  she 
said.  "  I'm  his  wife — and  I've  just  come 
home."  Her  cheeks  unfurled  a  rich  and 
wholesome  damask  blush  that  made  her 
positively  handsome.  She  turned  to  Tom 
and  took  little  Prairie  in  her  arms. 

When  he  got  his  chance,  big  Dan 
White  held  the  baby  again  on  his  knee. 
"Miss  Scott,"  he  said,  "this  sunshine  is 
gen'ral  throughout  the  United  States 
and  Canady." 


Back  to  Indiana, 

BY    ELMORE   ELLIOTT   PEAKE 

THE  rising  sun  had  not  yet  drunk 
the  dew  from  the  grass  in  the  door- 
yard  of  the  lone  cabin  when  the 
man  mounted  the  forward  hub  of  the 
prairie-schooner  and  bent  a  final  glance 
into  the  dusky  interior  to  make  sure  that 
nothing  had  been  forgotten.  He  inven 
toried  the  contents  with  his  eye:  a  mat 
tress  for  his  wife,  baby  boy,  and  little 
Nellie  to  sleep  on;  blankets  and  com 
forters — somewhat  faded  and  ragged — for 
himself  and  Roy  to  make  a  bunk  of,  on 
the  ground;  a  box  of  extra  clothing, 
cooking  utensils,  lantern,  rope,  shotgun, 
family  Bible — badly  shattered, — and  a 
hen-coop,  containing  seven  pullets,  lash 
ed  to  the  end-gate.  A  wooden  bucket 
hung  from  the  rear  axletree,  to  which 
was  also  chained  a  black  and  white  setter. 
The  only  superfluous  article  seemed  to  be 
a  little  mahogany  bureau,  battered  and 
warped,  but  still  retaining  an  air  of  dis- 


146  Harper's  Novelettes 

tinction  which  set  it  apart  from  the  other 
tawdry  furnishings,  and  marked  it  as  a 
family  treasure. 

Daggett  stepped  to  the  ground  again, 
and,  folding  his  arms,  swept  his  dull, 
faded  eyes  over  the  limitless  savanna, 
still  gray  with  the  mists  of  night.  Here, 
for  five  weary,  heart-breaking  years,  he 
had  pitted  his  puny  arm  against  rebel 
lious  Nature  and  fought  the  elements  on 
their  chosen  ground.  He  had  been  eaten 
up  by  grasshoppers;  tossed  by  cyclones; 
alternately  scorched  by  strange,  hot 
winds  and  frozen  by  shrieking  blizzards; 
desiccated  by  droughts  and  flooded  by 
cloudbursts.  His  horses  and  cattle  had 
sickened  and  died;  his  wife  had  faded 
and  grown  old  in  a  day;  one  of  his  chil 
dren  had  been  laid  under  the  tough, 
matted  sod  which  almost  turned  the  edge 
of  a  plough;  and  he,  never  rich,  had 
grown  poorer  and  poorer.  It  was  not 
strange,  perhaps,  that  he  had  come  to 
look  upon  that  vast,  treeless  expanse,  the 
playground  of  elemental  passions,  as  a 
monster  lying  in  wait  for  his  blood. 

"  The  curse  of  God  upon  you,  I  hate 
you !"  he  burst  out,  with  the  sudden  fury 
which  the  elements  had  taught  him.  But 
a  better  mood  instantly  following,  his 
eyes  softened  with  a  light  to  which  they 


Back  to  Indiana  147 

had  long  been  strange.  "Back  to  God's 
country — back  to  Indiana !"  he  exclaimed, 
and  laughed  aloud. 

Roy,  his  nine-year-old  boy,  looked  up 
at  the  unusual  sound;  but  his  father  had 
plunged  into  the  dismantled  cabin  again. 
He  returned  with  a  can  of  green  paint 
in  his  hand,  and  had  soon  roughly  let 
tered  the  canvas  wagon-top  with  the  in 
spired  words,  on  one  side,  "Back  to 
God's  Country";  on  the  other,  "Back 
to  Indiana."  Then  hurling  the  can  of 
paint  out  into  the  sunburnt  grass  with 
all  his  strength,  he  cried,  gayly,  "  There, 
grasshoppers,  eat  that — you  fiddlin'  de 
mons  that  air  so  fond  of  green,  stuff!" 

A  stooped,  flat -breasted  woman,  but 
with  the  remnants  of  beauty  still  cling 
ing  to  her  thin,  pale  face,  came  around 
the  corner  of  the  house.  She,  too,  had 
been  taking  a  last  look  about.  A  black 
cat  alternately  trotted  in  front  of  her 
and  arched  its  back  across  her  skirts. 

"  Rufus,  I  feel  as  if  we  ought  to  take 
the  cat,"  said  she,  hesitatingly.  "  I  hate 
to  leave  any  living  thing  here" 

"  Throw  him  in !  Always  room  for  one 
more!"  cried  her  husband,  jovially. 

She  glanced  up  gratefully  at  his  unex 
pected  good-nature,  and  then  took  a  final, 
solicitous  look  about  her.  Just  as  the 


148  Harper's  Novelettes 

prospect  of  quick  wealth  had  not  intoxi 
cated  her,  as  it  had  her  husband,  when 
they  sold  out  in  Indiana  and  started 
West,  so  the  reverses  they  had  since  suf 
fered  had  not  sullened  and  hardened  her. 
Likewise,  though  this  home-going1  was 
filling  her  depleted  veins  with  new  life, 
she  could  not  bubble  over  as  Rufus  and 
the  children  did.  Instead,  she  wet  her 
pillow  with  softly  flowing,  peaceful 
tears,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

"  Now  I  must  go  over  to  Willie's 
grave,"  said  she,  quietly.  It  was  plain 
that  this  duty  had  been  reserved  for 
the  last. 

She  did  not  ask  her  husband  to  go  with 
her,  and  he  did  not  volunteer  to  go.  But 
he  watched  her  with  chastened  eyes  as 
she  crossed  the  field  to  the  slight  rise 
which,  for  want  of  a  better  name,  they 
had  always  called  "  the  hill."  The  little 
grave  was  already  covered  with  a  tangle 
of  wild  roses,  trumpet-vine,  and  prairie- 
grass;  the  headboard  was  gray  and 
weather-beaten,  and  the  rudely  carved 
name  half  obliterated.  Nature  was  claim 
ing  her  own.  A  few  summers  and  win 
ters  would  come  and  go,  with  their  beat 
ing  rains  and  merciless  freezes;  and  then 
there  would  be  nothing,  not  even  a  little 
mound,  to  mark  the  spot  where  Willie, 


Back  to  Indiana  149 

after  spinning  his  brief  thread  of  life, 
had  been  laid  away.  Scalding;  tears  ran 
down  the  mother's  cheeks  at  the  thought. 

"I  wish  it  was  so  we  could  take  him 
up  and  lay  him  with  the  others,  back 
home,"  said  she,  gently,  on  her  return. 

"We'll  do  it  sometime,  mother," 
promised  Daggett,  hopefully.  But  she 
knew  they  never  would  do  it;  they  would 
always  be  too  poor. 

Owing  to  the  hard  times,  they  had 
been  unable  to  sell  their  farm.  So  they 
had  left  it  in  the  hands  of  a  real-estate 
agent,  twenty  miles  away,  who  would 
probably  fleece  them  out  of  half  their 
dues  if  he  ever  sold  the  place.  Their 
scanty  furniture  had  brought  but  a  pit 
tance,  and  had  it  not  been  for  a  lucky 
sale  of  cattle  they  might  have  been  un 
able  to  get  away  for  another  year.  As 
it  was,  they  expected  to  reach  Indiana 
with  practically  nothing  but  the  wagon 
and  the  span  of  mules  which  drew  it. 
But  what  of  that !  They  would  be  among 
friends;  they  would  be  in  God's  country 
— in  old  Indiana,  where  they  had  been 
born  and  raised. 

So,  buoyed  up  by  hope,  that  divinest  of 
gifts  from  above,  they  were  happy.  At 
night  they  camped  by  the  roadside, 
tethered  the  mules,  built  a  fire,  and 


150  Harper's  Novelettes 

cooked  supper.  How  sweet  the  smoky 
bacon,  the  johnny-cake  smutted  with 
ashes,  and  the  black,  creamless  coffee 
tasted!  No  king  ever  sat  down  to  more 
royal  fare.  Then,  after  a  brief  season 
of  talk,  and  a  pipe  for  Daggett,  they  lay 
down  and  slept  in  the  untainted  air  of 
God's  great  out-of-doors.  In  the  morn 
ing  they  arose  with  renewed  life,  fed  the 
mules,  cooked  breakfast,  and  began  an 
other  day's  lap  on  their  long  journey. 

Often  the  road  was  hot  and  dusty, 
between  flat,  barren  fields.  But  often, 
again,  it  skirted  beautiful  streams  for 
miles;  and  after  they  reached  the  Ozarks, 
it  wandered  through  pleasant  valleys, 
forded  swift  brooks,  and  climbed  cool 
mountain-sides,  in  the  shade  of  thick 
timber.  Farmhouses,  villages,  and  cities 
were  sighted,  passed,  and  left  behind,  in 
a  slow,  pleasing  panorama.  Beyond  the 
Ozarks  they  began  to  see  birds  that  they 
had  known  back  in  Indiana ;  and  at  sight 
of  the  first  cardinal,  with  his  breast 
flaming  in  the  sunlight,  Daggett  stared 
with  fascinated  eyes  for  a  moment,  and 
then  burst  out:  "Look  at  the  redbird, 
mother!  He's  just  like  the  one  that  used 
to  build  in  our  syringa-bush !"  Lucy 
could  not  remember  that  he  had  ever 
called  her  attention  to  a  bird  before. 


Back  to  Indiana  151 

The  blacK  cat  'deserted  them  the  first 
night  out,  going  back  home,  presumably. 
But  no  ill  luck  ensued,  as  Daggett  half 
feared  it  would.  Not  so  much  as  a  nut 
was  lost  or  a  strap  broken.  Mrs.  Daggett 
continued  to  improve;  the  children, 
though  as  brown  as  Malays  from  dust 
and  tan,  had  no  ache  or  pain;  and  Dag 
gett  himself  forgot  to  take  a  dyspepsia 
tablet  for  a  week. 

Yet  their  bed  was  not  quite  one  of 
roses.  Thoughts  of  the  future,  even  in 
"  God's  country,"  occasionally  touched 
the  parents  with  anxiety.  Also,  in  some 
places,  where  their  dark  coats  of  tan 
branded  them  as  gipsies,  they  were  look 
ed  upon  with  suspicion.  Occasionally  a 
village  constable,  puffed  up  with  authori 
ty,  would  order  them  not  to  camp  within 
the  village  limits;  and  sometimes  a 
farmer,  attracted  by  their  evening  fire, 
would  warn  them  not  to  trespass  for 
wood.  Again,  when  the  unshorn  and 
grimy  Daggett  entered  a  store  to  pur 
chase  groceries  or  a  bale  of  hay — oc 
casionally  the  roadside  pasture  failed — • 
he  was  now  and  then  made  to  feel  that 
his  room  was  preferred  to  his  trade.  Yet 
generally  they  wero  treated  with  hu 
manity;  and  not  infrequently  a  farmer, 
seeing  the  children  at  play  of  an  evening, 


152  Harper's  Novelettes 

would  bring  out  milk  or  eggs  or  even  a 
chicken  to  the  camp. 

Daggett  and  his  wife  usually  sat 
around  the  fire  of  a  night,  after  the  chil 
dren  had  gone  to  bed,  and  talked  over 
their  prospects.  Her  heart,  like  his,  was 
set  on  getting  back  the  old  place,  where 
four  of  their  children  had  been  born 
and  two  of  them  buried.  It  was  only  a 
poor  little  place  of  eighty  acres,  just  be 
yond  the  fertile  belt  of  Wabash  bottom 
land;  but  it  was  home,  sweet  home,  and 
looking  back  to  it  from  their  exile  they 
forgot  its  scanty  crops  and  rocky  soil. 

"  If  we  can't  get  it  back,  Rufus,  it 
won't  be  like  going  home,"  said  Lucy, 
one  night,  gazing  into  the  fire  with  misty 
eyes.  They  were  then  in  Missouri,  in  the 
eastern  foot-hills  of  the  Ozarks. 

"  We'll  git  it  back,  mother,"  said  Dag 
gett,  confidently.  His  courage  ran  high 
these  days.  "  Joinville  Haines  probably 
holds  it  yet,  'cause  it  ain't  likely  any 
body  would  want  to  buy  it.  Leastways, 
they  didn't  seem  to  want  to  when  we  had 
it  to  sell.  He's  a  good  man.  He  ain't 
forgot  the  time  I  pulled  him  out  of  the 
crick  and  saved  his  life,  when  we  was 
boys.  And  I  reckon  he  ain't  forgot, 
either,  that  he  loved  you  once,  Lucy," 
he  added. 


Back  to  Indiana  153 

She  did  riot  answer  at  once,  but  her 
face  grew  softer.  The  remnant  of  its 
girlish  beauty,  which  child-bearing, 
drudgery,  and  ill  health  had  so  sadly 
ravished,  showed  to  better  advantage  in 
the  soft  firelight  than  in  the  glare  of  day. 

"Maybe  he  has  forgotten,''  she  mur 
mured.  "I  once  feared  that  he  was  a 
man  who  might  forget  such  things." 

Daggett  pushed  a  log  farther  into  the 
fire  with  his  boot,  sending  up  a  shower 
of  sparks,  and  relit  his  pipe  with  a  coal. 

"Is  that  the  reason  you  didn't  marry 
him?"  he  asked,  slyly. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his.  "I  loved 
you,  Kufus,"  said  she,  quietly,  and  smiled 
almost  as  she  used  to  smile  in  the  days 
when  he  had  courted  her. 

A  tenderness  which  had  long  lain  dor 
mant  stirred  in  Daggett's  bosom.  In  the 
past  weeks  he  had  realized  as  never  be 
fore  the  hard  life  he  had  led  her.  He 
had  not  provided  for  her  as  Joinville 
Haines  would  have  done.  He  had  com 
plained  of  his  lot,  and  he  had  often  been 
cross  with  her.  To  marry  him  she  had 
left  a  home  in  which,  humble  though  it 
was,  she  had  never  known  privation.  She 
had  slaved  in  his  kitchen  and  about  his 
house.  She  had  borne  his  children, 
cheerfully,  and  with  only  welcome  in 


154  Harper's  Novelettes 

her  heart  for  them  as  they  came  along,  in 
a  rapid  succession  under  which  she  had 
withered  like  a  flower.  She  had  bravely 
seen  three  of  them  lowered  in  the  grave. 
She  had  met  his  fault-finding  with  the 
soft  answer  which  turneth  away  wrath. 

She  had  followed  him  into  the  West 
against  her  better  judgment.  For  five 
years  she  had  stood  by  his  side  out  there, 
ten  miles  from  a  neighbor,  twenty  from 
a  town,  and  forty  from  a  railroad.  She 
had  cheered  him  on  while  he  fought 
grasshoppers,  hot  winds,  drought,  bliz 
zards,  and  his  own  sinking  courage. 
Never  once  had  she  suggested  going  back 
to  Indiana,  though  he  could  see  that  her 
strength  was  failing  and  her  heart  break 
ing.  And  when  at  last  he  had  given  up, 
bitter  and  defeated,  she  had  smoothed 
the  wrinkles  from  his  brow,  and  put 
hope  in  his  heart,  and  raised  the  rally- 
cry:  "Back  to  God's  country!  Back 
to  Indiana!" 

"  Joinville  will  let  us  have  the  old 
place  back,"  he  repeated.  "  He  ain't  got 
any  use  for  it.  He  knows  I'll  pay  as  I 
can,  and  he'll  give  me  time." 

"  It  was  such  a  warm  little  house,  there 
in  the  hollow,"  said  she,  huskily,  con 
trasting  it  with  the  boxlike  shell  on  the 
prairie,  where  the  northwest  gales,  tooth- 


Back  to  Indiana  155 

ed  with  arctic  cold,  ravened  like  a  wolf 
at  every  crevice  for  days  at  a  time.  "  The 
kitchen  was  so  cozy,  too.  I  used  to  com 
plain  that  it  was  too  small,  and  un 
handy.  But  I  never  will  again — if  we 
get  it  back." 

Daggett's  eyes  glistened  like  a  boy's. 
"I  wonder  if  the  honeysuckle-vine  is 
still  on  the  well-house.  I  ain't  smelt 
honeysuckle  since  we  left  there." 

She  smiled  at  him  through  sudden 
tears.  "Rufus,  I  used  to  think,  out  on 
the  prairie,  when  I  was  so  tired  all  the 
time,  that  I'd  be  content  to  die,  if  only 
the  children  could  be  provided  for,  and 
I  knew  that  some  one  would  put  a 
sprig  of  honeysuckle  in  my  hands  after 
I  was  dead." 

When  he  helped  her  into  the  wagon, 
where  she  slept,  he  retained  her  hand  for 
a  moment,  in  a  half-embarrassed  way. 
Then  he  kissed  her.  He  could  not  recall' 
when  he  had  kissed  her  good-night  be 
fore.  Nor  could  she,  as  she  lay  with 
wide-open,  happy,  starry  eyes. 

He  arose  the  next  morning  with  a 
heart  strangely,  blissfully  light.  Some 
thing  was  moulding  the  old  topsyturvy, 
sordid  world  over  for  him  again,  giving 
it  somewhat  the  likeness  it  had  borne 
when  he  was  a  boy.  As  he  and  Roy 


156  Harper's  Novelettes 

rode  along  on  the  front  seat,  he  said  to 
the  lad, 

"Koy,  do  you  remember  the  old 
place?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  hoy,  eagerly.  "  I 
remember  the  crick,  with  the  bridge 
acrost  it — and  the  little  grove  of  spruce- 
trees,  with  the  two  tombstones  —  and 
the  old  barn  with  a  basement — and  a 
well  with  a  chain  and  a  bucket  on 
each  end." 

"  And  the  sweetest  water  in.  it,  Hoy, 
that  man  ever  drunk!"  added  the  father, 
jubilantly.  "  I  ain't  had  my  thirst  right 
ly  quenched  since  I  left  it.  The  first 
thing  you  and  me  '11  do  when  we  drive 
in  is  to  git  a  drink  of  that  water — and 
then  bring  a  gourdful  to  mother.  Eh!" 
He  laughed  gayly,  and  clucked  to  the 
mules.  "  Git  ep,  boys,  git  ep !  Every 
step  is  takin'  you  nearer  to  that  sweet 
water,  and  you  kin  have  some  too." 
Once  he  would  have  sullenly  struck  the 
animals  when  they  lagged. 

At  a  town  called  Bonneterre,  in  Mis 
souri,  which  they  passed  through  about 
five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin  was  advertised  on  the  bill 
boards  for  that  night. 

"Mother,"  said  Daggett,  with  an  in 
spiration,  "I've  a  notion  to  camp  on  the 


Back  to  Indiana  157 

aidge  of  town,  and  take  Roy  and  Nellie 
to  see  Uncle  Tom.  It's  a  grand  show 
— I  seen  it  once — and  they  ain't  never 
seen  a  show  in  all  their  lives.  It  won't 
cost  much." 

The  mother  made  no  objection.  So 
after  supper  Daggett  and  the  two  chil 
dren  set  out  for  the  "  Opera-house," 
leaving  Mrs.  Daggett,  four  -  year  -  old 
Bobbie,  and  Spot,  the  setter,  in  charge  of 
the  camp.  It  was  a  memorable  night  for 
the  youngsters;  and  when  Eliza  fled 
across  the  floating  ice  in  the  Ohio,  with 
her  child  in  her  arms,  Roy,  forgetting 
that  it  was  only  a  play,  leaped  to  his  feet 
and  shouted  shrilly,  "  Oh,  paw,  them 
hounds  are  goin'  to  git  her !" 

But  on  the  way  home,  in  the  midst  of 
the  excited  babble  of  the  children,  Dag 
gett  suddenly  paused  under  a  street  lamp, 
and  looked  down  at  the  diminutive  pair 
with  a  sickly  color  overspreading  his 
face.  His  pocketbook  was  gone!  And 
it  contained  all  the  money  he  had  in  the 
world,  except  the  change  remaining  from 
a  five-dollar  bill  which  he  had  broken  at 
the  box-office! 

A  search  both  along  the  street  and  in 
the  opera-house  was  of  no  avail,  and  it 
was  a  heavy-hearted  man  who  stretched 
himself  that  night  beneath  the  prairie- 


158  Harper's  Novelettes 

schooner.  There  was  no  joking  or  sky 
larking  the  next  morning  as  they  hitched 
up  the  mules — no  response  to  the  birds' 
tuneful  sunrise  greetings.  They  were 
still  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from 
home;  the  last  of  the  flour  had  been  used 
for  supper,  and  the  side  of  bacon  was 
almost  gone. 

The  alternative  which  faced  Daggett 
was  to  work,  beg,  or  steal.  His  honesty 
was  of  a  fibre  which  would  not  permit 
the  last,  and  his  rough  pride  balked  at 
the  second.  Therefore  he  must  work. 
But  work  was  not  an  easy  thing  for  a 
nomad  like  him  to  get;  and  if  he  did 
get  it,  it  would  take  him  some  time,  per 
haps  until  cold  weather,  with  a  family 
and  a  pair  of  mules  on  his  hands,  to 
accumulate  enough  to  last  him  through 
to  Indiana.  The  outlook  was  desperate 
indeed. 

That  day  their  dinner  consisted  of 
stale  bread — a  baker  had  let  Daggett 
have  three  loaves  for  a  nickel — and  dan 
delion  greens  boiled  with  the  last  of  the 
bacon.  Supper  consisted  of  the  same, 
warmed  over;  and  little  Bobbie  went  to 
bed  crying  for  something  to  eat.  Dag 
gett  swore,  with  a  mighty  oath,  that  the 
child  should  have  it  in  the  morning,  cost 
what  it  might. 


Back  to  Indiana  159 

Two  days  later  they  crossed  the  Mis 
sissippi  at  St.  Louis,  on  .the  great  Eads 
bridge.  Daggett  and  his  wife  had  look 
ed  forward  impatiently  to  the  passage  of 
this  last  great  natural  barrier  between 
them  and  home,  and  the  occasion  was  to 
have  been  one  of  thanksgiving.  But  the 
bridge  toll  made  a  cruel  hole  in  the 
rapidly  dwindling  little  store  of  silver  in 
Daggett's  pocket;  and  though  the  chil 
dren  were  jubilant  over  the  steamboats, 
and  craned  their  necks  to  the  last  to  see 
them,  the  parents  scarcely  glanced  at 
the  Father  of  Waters.  That  night  Dag 
gett  announced  to  his  wife  that  he  had 
just  a  dollar  and  twenty  cents  left. 

"  Something  will  turn  up,  husband," 
said  she,  bravely,  but  her  lips  trembled. 

"  What  kin  turn  up  ?"  asked  he,  pa 
thetically,  and  she  could  not  make 
answer. 

They  took  the  old  St.  Louis  and  Vin- 
cennes  stage-road,  running  due  east. 
Daggett  mournfully  recalled  the  exu 
berance  with  which  he  had  passed  over 
it  five  years  before,  going  west.  The 
second  day  out  from  St.  Louis,  while 
watering  their  team  at  a  public  pump, 
in  a  village  whose  name  they  did  not 
know  nor  care  to  ask,  the  usual  curious 
group  gathered  about  them. 


160  Harper's  Novelettes 

"Want  to  sell  that  bird-dog,  mister?" 
inquired  a  bystander,  who  had  been 
noting  Spot's  points  with  a  critical  eye. 

Daggett  suddenly  stopped  pumping. 
He  had  thought  of  selling  his  mules  and 
buying  a  pair  of  bullocks.  He  had 
thought  of  selling  his  wagon  and  buying 
a  cheaper  one.  lie  had  even  thought  of 
selling  the  box  of  clothing.  But  until 
this  instant  his  dog,  blooded  though  he 
was,  had  no  more  occurred  to  him  as  an 
asset  than  one  of  his  children  had.  Yet 
why  not  sell  him  ?  Better  sell  a  dog  than 
starve  a  child.  With  grim  lips  he  stepped 
over  to  the  inquirer,  so  as  to  get  out  of 
ear-shot  of  the  wagon. 

"I'll  sell  him  if  I  kin  git  his  price," 
said  he,  almost  fiercely.  "  But  it's  one 
that  you  wouldn't  care  to  pay,  I  reckon, 
without  tryin'  him,  and  this  ain't  the 
season  for  birds." 

"What  is  your  price?"  asked  the 
other,  as  Spot  approached  his  master  and 
looked  up  inquiringly  with  his  soft, 
brown  eyes.  "  lie's  got  a  good  head." 

"  Twenty-five  dollars,"  answered  Dag- 
gett,  resolutely. 

"  You  don't  want  much !"  grinned  the 
prospective  buyer. 

"  No,  not  much — for  a  dog  like  that," 
retorted  Daggett, 


Back  to  Indiana  161 

"I  like  his  looks,"  admitted  the  man. 
"He  shows  his  hreedin'  all  right.  But 
all  the  evidence  I've  got  of  his  trainin'  is 
your  word." 

"  That's  all  the  evidence  you've  got  or 
kin  git,"  assented  Daggett,  coolly.  "  And 
it  don't  make  a  picayune's  worth  of  dif 
ference  to  me  whether  you  take  it  or 
leave  it." 

His  bluster  was  working,  as  he  per 
ceived  from  beneath  his  drooping  lids, 
and  the  other  hesitated. 

"  If  you'd  asked  me  five  dollars  for 
that  dog,  pardner,  I'd  have  refused  him. 
I'd  'a'  knowed  he  was  a  spoiled  pup." 
He  took  another  whiff  at  his  pipe.  "  I've 
been  tryin'  for  three  years  to  get  a  dog 
just  like  that  one.  He  grows  on  me 
every  minute,  and — I'll  take  him  at  your 
price,"  he  ended,  abruptly. 

"  Come  into  this  store,"  said  Daggett, 
in  a  low  voice.  The  dog  followed.  "  My 
wife  and  children  mustn't  see  you  take 
him.  They'd  squall  their  eyes  out.  I'm 
sellin'  him,  my  friend,  because  I've  got 
to — because  I  need  the  money.  You  see! 
Otherwise  your  common  council  could 
n't  raise  enough  to  buy  him.  Tie  a 
string  around  his  neck — he's  as  gentle 
as  a  lamb — call  him  Spot,  and,  after 
we're  out  of  sight,  lead  him  home  and 


162  Harpers  Novelettes 

feed  him.  And,  my  friend,  treat  him 
good,  lie's  the  best  bird-dog  you  ever 
shot  over." 

The  man  wrote  out  a  check,  which  the 
grocer  cashed.  Daggett  pocketed  the 
money,  patted  the  dog  on  the  head,  and 
turned  guiltily  away  from  the  beseech 
ing  brown  eyes. 

The  children,  lying  inside  the  canvas, 
out  of  the  hot  sun,  did  not  miss  their 
four-footed  playfellow  until  supper-time. 
Then  Daggett  confessed,  and  bowed  his 
head  before  the  storm  of  grief  that 
burst.  It  was  only  after  the  young 
ones  had  sobbed  themselves  to  sleep 
that  Mrs.  Daggett  said,  sympathetically, 
"  I  reckon  it  hurt  you  more  than  it 
did  them,  Kufus." 

The  next  day  they  had  butter  on  their 
bread  again,  but  it  had  been  purchased 
at  too  heavy  an  outlay  of  the  heart's 
coin  to  be  enjoyable ;  and  when  little 
Eobbie  said  with  a  whimper,  "  I'd 
thooner  have  Spot  than  butter,"  ho 
voiced  the  family's  sentiments. 

But  even  the  sacrifice  of  their  pet 
could  not  long  keep  their  spirits  down, 
now  that  home  was  drawing  near  and 
they  had  the  wherewithal  to  keep  on 
going.  The  towns  they  passed  through 
were  becoming  familiar  to  Daggett,  by 


Back  to  Indiana  163 

name  at  least,  and  looked  like  Indiana 
towns,  he  fancied.  As  the  wagon 
rumbled  across  the  muddy  Little  Wa- 
bash,  with  its  pond  -  lilies  and  willow 
thickets,  Daggett  cried  out,  boyishly: 
"By  jings!  it's  a  picture  on  a  small 
scale  of  the  old  'Bash  herself;  and  I'll 
bet  a  cooky  that  if  I  had  a  hook  and 
line  I  could  ketch  a  catfish  down  there 
in  three  minutes!" 

But  when  he  crossed  the  Wabash  it 
self,  two  days  later,  his  emotions  were 
too  deep  for  frivolous  expression.  In 
that  stream  was  water  from  Beecher's 
Kun,  and  Beecher's  Kun  crossed  his  old 
farm!  How  well  he  understood  the 
silent  tears  which  were  coursing  down 
Lucy's  cheeks!  And,  oh,  the  rustle  of 
that  bottom-land  corn!  It  came  to  his 
ears  like  some  forgotten  lullaby  of  child 
hood  ;  and  when  a  wood  -  pewee  called 
pensively  from  a  sycamore,  the  man  lift 
ed  an  illuminated  face  toward  the  little 
embodied  voice  and  murmured,  "  God's 
country — old  Indiana — at  last !" 

The  prairie-schooner  creaked  into 
Emerald  Grove  after  dark  on  a  moon 
light  night.  In  their  anxiety  to  reach 
the  town  they  had  decided  not  to  halt 
for  supper  at  the  usual  hour,  Daggett 


1 64  Harper's  Novelettes 

promising  the  children  if  they  would 
wait  that  they  should  eat  in  a  restaurant. 
They  were  now  jubilant  over  this  novel 
prospect.  But  the  parents  were  quiet. 
The  realization  of  their  dream  was  too 
near  at  hand.  Their  old  home  lay  but 
three  miles  away! 

Emerald  Grove!  It  was  here  that 
Lucy  had  bought  her  wedding-gown,  and 
here  that  Daggett  had  bought  his  wed 
ding  suit.  It  was  here  that  their  childish 
eyes  had  first  grown  round  with  wonder 
at  sight  of  a  store,  street-lamps,  and  a 
telephone.  It  was  the  promise  of  a  trip 
to  this  town,  on  Saturday  afternoon,  that 
used  to  hold  them  faithful  to  their  chores 
all  week  long.  It  was  here  the  old  doctor 
lived  who  had  ushered  them  and  their 
children  into  the  world. 

The  town  looked  natural;  but  Daggett 
was  surprised,  and  a  little  disappointed, 
at  the  number  of  new  houses  which  had 
gone  up.  In  his  heart  he  was  jealous  of 
any  change  which  had  taken  place  in  his 
absence.  He  wanted  to  come  back  to  the 
Emerald  Grove  that  he  had  left— a  som 
nolent  old  town  whose  population  had  been 
at  a  standstill  for  a  quarter  of  a  century. 

There  were  a  number  of  new  stores, 
too;  and  the  restaurant  to  which  Dag 
gett  took  the  family  for  supper  had 


Back  to  Indiana  165 

been  improved  and  enlarged  until  he 
hardly  recognized  the  place.  It  had  also 
changed  hands,  so  that  he  was  denied  the 
pleasure  of  shaking  hands  with  Elihu 
James,  the  former  proprietor.  As  he  ate 
he  watched  the  door  for  a  familiar  face, 
which  he  was  hungrier  for  than  the  viands 
on  his  plate ;  but  he  could  recall  the  name 
of  none  of  the  men  who  dropped  in  for  a 
cigar.  Emerald  Grove  had  changed! 

After  supper  they  drove  around  to 
Joinville  Haines's  house.  At  least  one 
of  the  hearts  in  the  wagon  fluttered  as 
Daggett  passed  up  the  flower-bordered, 
brick  walk  to  the  old-fashioned  dwelling. 
So  much  depended  on  Joinville  Haines 
and  his  loyalty  to  an  old  friend!  Then, 
in  an  ominously  short  time,  Lucy  heard 
her  husband  coming  down  the  walk 
again.  Trouble  was  in  his  footfalls. 

"  Joinville  don't  live  here  no  more," 
said  he,  in  a  puzzled  manner.  "  He's 
gone  and  built  him  a  new  house,  the 
woman  said.  Don't  it  beat  you  that 
he  would  give  the  old  family  home 
the  shake?" 

His  tone  was  almost  an  aggrieved  one. 
During  the  weeks  on  the  road  he  had  so 
often  stood,  in  imagination,  on  the  steps 
of  this  house,  and  seen  Joinville  Haines 
open  the  door  and  start  at  the  apparition 


1 66  Harper's  Novelettes 

of  his  old  friend.  Therefore,  a  strange 
woman  answering  his  ring  had  stunned 
him.  But  this  shock  was  small  com 
pared  with  the  one  he  received  when,  fol 
lowing  the  woman's  directions,  he  drove 
to  a  plot  of  ground  that  used  to  be  rank 
with  dog- fennel  and  jimson  -  weed  and 
found  a  great,  three-storied,  granite  man 
sion,  with  plate-glass  windows,  statuary 
in  the  yard,  and  a  gravelled  driveway 
and  porte-cochere,  all  jealously  guarded 
by  an  aristocratic  ten-foot  iron  fence. 

"This  — this  can't  be  Joinville's, 
Lucy!"  he  faltered. 

But  it  was,  so  a  white-capped  maid 
informed  him  at  the  massive  front  door. 
Mr.  Haines  was  not  at  home,  she  added, 
and  would  not  be  until  the  following  day. 
Would  he  leave  his  card  ?  Daggett  shook 
his  head  and  retreated  in  confusion.  His 
card !  He  had  never  owned  a  card  in  his 
life,  and  the  Joinville  Haines  he  used 
to  know  never  had,  either. 

"  If  we've  got  to  camp  again  to-night, 
Kufus,  let's  drive  out  by  the  old  place," 
pleaded  Lucy,  timidly.  This  great  house, 
somehow,  had  frightened  her.  "  I  feel 
as  if  I'd  sleep  better  out  there.  And  I 
can't  wait  any  longer  to  see  it." 

They  were  soon  on  the  old  familiar 
road,  over  which  Daggett  had  hauled  so 


Back  to  Indiana  167 

many  wagon-loads  of  corn  and  hogs  and 
apples.  They  passed  the  long  row  of 
Lombardy  poplars  in  front  of  Newton 
Bryson's,  and  crossed  first  Haymeadow 
Creek  and  then  Possum  Fork.  From  a 
distance  they  recognized  in  the  moon 
light  the  thicket  of  "  silver  maples  "  that 
had  sprung  from  the  roots  of  the  two 
hoary  old  trees  in  Si  Morgan's  front 
yard.  Then  came  Dick  Helm's,  Luciaii 
Smith's,  Nimrod  Binney's,  and  all  the 
other  old  neighbors.  No  change  here, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  the  scent  of 
new-mown  hay,  still  lying  in  windrows, 
and  the  notes  of  the  whippoorwills  had 
smoothed  away  the  disappointments  and 
alarms  of  Emerald  Grove. 

Finally  they  rumbled  across  the  little 
bridge  over  Beecher's  Run — still  patched 
with  the  plank  that  Daggett  had  placed 
there  with  his  own  hands.  From  the 
summit  of  the  rise  just  beyond,  their 
old  home  would  lie  in  full  view — the 
house,  the  barn,  the  well-house,  and,  if 
the  moonlight  were  bright  enough,  the 
clump  of  spruces  under  which  two  little 
white  stones  stood  at  the  head  of  two 
little  graves. 

Daggett  halted  the  mules  at  the  foot 
of  the  slope. 

"  Let's  camp  here  to-night,  Lucy,"  said 


168  Harper's  Novelettes 

he,  in  a  voice  which  sounded  strange  in 
his  own  ears.  "  We  couldn't  see  much 
to-night,  anyhow.  And  I'd  sooner  see 
it  first  by  daylight.  It'll  look  more 
natural." 

So  they  camped  there  that  night — 
camped,  but  did  not  sleep.  All  night 
long  the  woman  lay  in  the  wagon,  lis 
tening  to  the  frogs,  and  looking  at  the 
stars  in  the  west  —  that  west  out  of 
which  they  had  fled  as  the  children  of 
Israel  fled  out  of  Egypt.  And  all  night 
long  the  man  under  the  wagon,  out  of 
the  dew,  lay  with  open  eyes;  and  he  too 
looked  at  the  stars. 

For  some  reason — the  natural  reaction 
following  his  high-strung  anticipations, 
or  the  changes  in  Emerald  Grove — he 
was  uneasy.  And  though  the  little  frogs 
trilled  and  the  crickets  chirped  just  as 
they  always  used  to  do,  something  seem 
ed  to  be  amiss  with  the  old  nocturnal 
quietude  of  the  place.  All  through  the 
night  there  came  to  him,  he  fancied,  a 
low,  distant,  regular,  mysterious  sound 
which  he  was  at  a  loss  to  explain.  When 
he  rose  to  his  elbow  and  listened,  it 
seemed  to  cease;  and  he  finally  persuaded 
himself  that  it  was  only  a  ringing  in 
his  ears  from  indigestion.  lie  had  eaten 
a  pretty  hearty  supper. 


Back  to  Indiana  169 

The  elders  were  up  at  the  gray  of 
dawn,  while  the  children  still  slept;  but 
it  was  not  until  the  sun  had  fairly  risen 
that  they  proceeded  slowly  up  the  little 
rise  of  ground.  Lucy  reached  out  and 
took  her  husband's  hand.  He  felt  her 
trembling;  and  there  flashed  before  him 
a  day  in  their  childhood  when  both  of 
them,  barefooted,  had  tramped  up  this 
selfsame  little  hill.  She  was  trembling 
then,  too,  for  she  had  seen  a  snake  in  the 
blackberry  bushes. 

They  reached  the  top  of  the  rise,  and 
lifted  their  eyes.  Both  suddenly  grew 
rigid.  Then  Lucy  gave  a  little  cry. 
Daggett  stared  vacantly  ahead. 

There  was  no  farm!  There  was  no 
cottage  —  no  barn  —  no  vine  -  clad  well- 
house  !  All  had  been  swept  from  the  face 
of  the  earth  as  if  by  the  besom  of  destruc 
tion.  In  their  place  were  long,  low,  ugly 
brick  buildings,  with  tin  roofs;  great 
tanks;  tall  towers  of  structural  steel;  a 
huge  brick  chimney,  from  which  jetty 
smoke  rolled  forth;  several  rows  of  new 
ly  painted  laborers'  quarters;  a  railroad 
track  and  cars. 

"Oil!"  broke  out  Daggett,  hoarsely, 
at  last.  "They've  struck  oil!" 

Lucy,  swaying  dizzily,  grasped  his  arm 
for  support. 


170          Harper's  Novelettes 

"Where's  the  little  graveyard?"  she 
whispered. 

"I  —  I  can't  jest  make  out,  I'm  so 
turned  around,"  he  answered. 

But  he  was  not  turned  around  to  that 
extent.  He  had  seen  at  the  first  glance 
that  the  ugly  boiler-house,  with  the 
smoky  cloud  clustering  about  its  tall 
stack  like  some  foul  fungus,  squatted 
squarely  over  the  little  God's-acre  in 
which  the  dust  of  their  dead  ones  lay.  It 
gave  him  a  feeling  of  suffocation. 

As  they  stood  in  stunned  silence,  a 
carriage  drawn  by  two  spirited  black 
horses,  whose  buckles  glittered  in  the 
sunlight,  rapidly  approached.  On  the 
rear  seat,  behind  a  liveried  coachman,  sat 
Joinville  Haines — a  millionaire,  but  up 
and  at  work  while  most  of  his  hired  men 
still  slept  in  the  quarters  below.  In 
spite  of  his  great  house  in  Emerald 
Grove,  and  in  spite  of  his  fine  equipage, 
he  had  changed  little.  He  wore  the  same 
plain,  ill-fitting  clothes  he  had  always 
worn,  and  beneath  his  squarely  trimmed 
beard  his  shirt-front  showed  innocent 
of  any  cravat.  He  was  only  a  little  old 
er,  a  little  sadder,  with  deeper  lines  about 
his  mouth. 

At  sight  of  the  wayfarers,  who,  in 
their  crushed  mood,  would  have  let  him 


Back  to  Indiana  171 

pass  unhailed,  he  ordered  the  driver 
to  stop. 

"How  do,  Eufus!  How  do,  Lucy!" 
said  he,  with  his  old  quiet  cordiality. 
He  stepped  down  and  held  out  his  hand 
to  each,  after  a  characteristic  motion 
which  reminded  Lucy  of  the  days  when 
he  used  to  run  a  meat-market  and  al 
ways  wiped  his  hand  on  his  apron  before 
offering  it  to  any  one.  "  When'd  you 
git  back?" 

"  Last  night,"  answered  Daggett.  "  We 
camped  yander.  We  just  come  up  to  see 
the  old  place." 

"Hadn't  you  heard?" 

Daggett  shook  his  head.  A  peculiar 
light,  akin  to  pity,  flamed  up  in  the  rich 
man's  eyes,  and  then  died  away. 

"You   find   consid'able  change,   then." 

"  Joinville,  we  wanted  to  buy  the  old 
place  back!"  cried  Lucy,  swiftly. 

Again  that  peculiar  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  don't  want  it 
now,  after  I've  sp'iled  it  for  you.  You 
wouldn't,  leastways,  if  you'd  had  as  much 
trouble  with  it  as  I  have."  He  jerked 
his  head  toward  his  liveried  coachman. 
"My  wife  makes  me  ride  behind  that 
monkey  in  red  top-boots,"  he  added,  in  a 
lowered  voice.  "  But,  Kufus,  if  you  want 
a  farm,  I've  got  a  hundred  acres  two 


172  Harper's  Novelettes 

miles  down  the  road — the  old  Barnum 
place.  It's  better  land  than  this  ever 
was,  and  you  can  have  it  on  easy  terms." 

"How  much  down?"  asked  Daggett, 
with  a  harsh  laugh.  He  seemed  to  be 
joking,  in  a  ghastly  way. 

"Whatever  you  can  pay,"  answered 
the  millionaire,  steadily. 

Daggett  drew  a  couple  of  silver  dol 
lars  and  some  small  change  from  his 
trousers  pocket. 

"  There's  my  pile,  Join — what's  left  of 
my  bird-dog." 

Haines  studied  the  coins  in  the  horny 
palm  for  a  moment. 

"You  have  a  penny  there.  Pay  me 
that  down."  He  did  not  smile,  but 
gravely  accepted  the  copper,  wrote  out  a 
receipt  for  it,  and  signed  a  name  that 
was  good  for  at  least  a  million  dollars. 
"You  can  take  possession  this  morning 
— there's  no  one  on  the  place.  I'll  drop 
in  this  afternoon,  and  we'll  inventory 
the  stock  and  machinery." 

The  man  and  the  woman  stood  side  by 
side,  without  speech,  until  the  carriage 
had  passed  out  of  sight. 

"  He  didn't  forget,"  said  Daggett,  with 
glistening  eyes. 

Lucy's  lips  parted,  but  closed  again, 
soundlessly. 


The  Gray  Chieftain 

BY  CHARLES  A.   EASTMAN,  M.D. 

ON    the   westernmost   verge   of   the 
Cedar    Butte    stood    Haykinskah 
and  his  mate.    They  looked  stead 
ily  toward  the  setting  sun,  over  a  land 
scape  which  up  to  that  time  had  scarce 
ly  been  viewed  by  man — the  inner  circle 
of  the  Bad  Lands. 

Cedar  Butte  guards  the  southeastern 
entrance  of  that  wonderland,  standing 
fully  a  thousand  feet  above  the  surround 
ing  country,  and  nearly  half  a  mile  long 
by  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide.  The  summit 
is  a  level,  grassy  plain,  its  edges  heavily 
fringed  with  venerable  cedars.  To  at 
tempt  the  ascent  of  this  butte  is  like 
trying  to  scale  the  walls  of  Babylon,  for 
its  sides  are  high  and  all  but  inaccessi 
ble.  Near  the  top  there  are  hanging 
]ands  or  terraces  and  innumerable  pre 
cipitous  points,  with  here  and  there  deep 


174          Harper's  Novelettes 

chimneys  or  abysses  in  the  solid  rock. 
There  are  many  hidden  recesses,  and 
more  than  one  secret  entrance  to  this 
ancient  castle  of  the  Gray  Chieftain 
and  his  ancestors,  but  to  assail  it  suc 
cessfully  required  more  than  common 
skill  and  spirit. 

Many  a  coyote  had  gone  up  as  high 
as  the  second  leaping  bridge,  and  there 
abandoned  the  attempt.  Old  Grizzly  had 
once  tor  twice  begun  the  ascent  with  doubt 
and  misgiving,  but  soon  discovered  his 
mistake,  and  made  clumsy  haste  to  de 
scend  before  he  should  tumble  into  an 
abyss  from  which  no  one  ever  returns. 
Only  Igmutanka,  the  mountain-lion,  hnd 
achieved  the  summit,  and  at  every  ascent 
he  had  been  well  repaid;  yet  even  he 
seldom  chose  to  risk  such  a  climb,  when 
there  were  many  fine  hunting-grounds  in 
safer  neighborhoods. 

So  it  was  that  Cedar  Butte  had  been 
the  peaceful  home  of  the  Big  Spoon- 
horns  for  untold  ages.  To  be  sure,  some 
of  the  younger  and  more  adventurous 
members  of  the  clan  would  depart  from 
time  to  time  to  found  new  families,  but 
the  wiser  and  more  conservative  were  con 
tent  to  remain  in  their  stronghold.  There 
stood  the  two  patriarchs,  looking  down 
complacently  upon  the  herds  of  buffalo, 


The  Gray  Chieftain  175 

antelope,  and  elks  that  peopled  the  lower 
plains.  While  the  red  sun  hovered  over 
the  western  hills,  a  coyote  upon  a  near-by 
eminence  gave  his  accustomed  call  to 
his  mate.  This  served  as  a  signal  to  all 
the  wild  hunters  of  the  plains  to  set  up 
their  inharmonious  evening  serenade,  to 
which  the  herbivorous  kindred  paid  but 
little  attention.  The  phlegmatic  Spoon- 
horii  pair  listened  to  it  all  with  a  fine 
air  of  indifference,  like  that  of  one  who 
sits  upon  his  own  balcony,  superior  to  the 
passing  noises  of  the  street. 

It  was  a  charming  moonlight  night 
upon  the  cedar-fringed  plain,  and  there 
the  old  chief  presently  joined  the  others 
in  feast  and  play.  His  mate  sought  out 
a  secret  resting-place.  She  followed  the 
next  gulch,  which  was  a  perfect  laby 
rinth  of  caves  and  pockets,  and  after 
leaping  two  chasms  she  reached  her  fa 
vorite  spot.  Here  the  gulch  made  a 
square  turn,  affording  a  fine  view  of  the 
country  through  a  windowlike  opening. 
Above  and  below  this  were  perpendicular 
walls,  and  at  the  bottom  a  small  cavity 
— the  washout  made  by  a  root  of  a  pine 
which  had  long  since  fallen.  To  this  led 
a  narrow  terrace — so  narrow  that  man  or 
beast  would  stop  and  hesitate  long  be 
fore  making  the  venture.  The  place  was 


176  Harper's  Novelettes 

her  own  by  right  of  daring  and  discovery, 
and  the  mother's  instinct  had  brought  her 
here  to-night. 

In  a  little  while  relief  came,  and  the 
ewe  stood  over  a  new-born  lamb,  licking 
tenderly  the  damp,  silky  coat  of  hair, 
and  trimming  the  little  hoofs  of  their 
cartilaginous  points.  The  world  was 
quiet  now,  and  those  whose  business  it 
was  to  hunt  or  feed  at  night  must  do  so 
in  silence,  for  such  is  the  law  of  the 
plains.  The  wearied  mother  slept  in 
peace. 

The  sun  was  well  above  the  butte  when 
she  awoke,  although  it  was  cool  and 
shadowy  still  in  her  concealed  abode.  She 
gave  suck  to  the  lamb,  and  caressed  it 
for  some  time  before  she  reluctantly  pre 
pared  its  cradle  according  to  the  custom 
of  her  people.  She  made  a  little  pocket 
in  the  floor  of  the  cave  and  gently  put 
the  baby  in.  Then  she  covered  him  all 
up,  save  the  nose  and  eyes,  with  dry  soil. 
She  put  her  nose  to  his  little  sensitive 
ear  and  breathed  into  it  warm  love  and 
caution,  and  he  felt  and  understood  that 
he  must  keep  his  eyes  closed  and  breathe 
gently,  lest  bear  or  wolf  or  man  should 
catch  his  big  eyes  or  hear  his  breathing 
if  they  should  find  her  trail.  Again  she 
put  her  warm,  loving  nose  to  his  eyes, 


The  Gray  Chieftain  177 

she  patted  a  little  more  earth  on  his  body 
and  smoothed  it  off.  The  tachinchana 
closed  his  eyes  in  obedience,  and  she  left 
him  for  the  plain  above,  in  search  of 
food  and  sunlight. 

At  a  little  before  dawn  two  wild  hunters 
left  their  camp  and  set  out  for  the  Cedar 
Butte.  Their  movements  were  marked 
by  unusual  care  and  secrecy.  Presently 
they  hid  their  ponies  in  a  deep  ravine 
and  groped  their  way  up  through  the 
difficult  Bad  Lands,  now  and  then  paus 
ing  to  listen.  The  two  were  close  friends 
and  rival  hunters  of  their  tribe. 

"  I  think,  friend,  you  have  mistaken 
the  haunts  of  the  Spoonhorn,"  remarked 
Gray  foot,  as  the  pair  came  out  upon  one 
of  the  lower  terraces.  He  said  this 
rather  to  test  his  friend,  for  it  was  their 
habit  thus  to  criticise  and  question  one 
another's  judgment,  in  order  to  extract 
from  each  other  fresh  observations. 
What  the  one  did  not  know  about  the 
habits  of  the  animals  they  hunted  in 
common,  the  other  could  usually  supply. 

"  This  is  his  home.  I  know  it,"  re 
plied  Wahye.  "  And  in  this  thing  the 
animals  are  much  like  ourselves.  They 
will  not  leave  an  old  haunt  unless  forced 
to  do  so,  either  by  lack  of  food  or 
overwhelming  danger." 


178  Harper's  Novelettes 

They  had  already  passed  on  to  tho 
next  terrace  and  leaped  a  deep  chasm  to 
gain  the  opposite  side  of  the  butte,  when 
Grayfoot  suddenly  whispered,  "  Inajin !" 
(Stop!).  Both  men  listened  attentively. 
"  Tap,  tap,  tap,"  an  almost  metallic 
sound  came  to  them  from  around  the 
perpendicular  wall  of  rock. 

"  He  is  chipping  his  horns,"  exclaimed 
the  hunter,  overjoyed  to  surprise  the 
chieftain  at  this  his  secret  occupation. 
"Poor  beast!  they  are  now  too  long  for 
him,  so  that  he  cannot  reach  the  short 
grass  to  feed.  Some  of  them  die  starv 
ing,  when  they  have  not  the  strength 
to  do  the  hard  bucking  against  the  rock 
to  shorten  their  horns.  He  chooses  this 
time,  when  he  thinks  no  one  will  hear 
him,  and  he  even  leaves  his  own  clan 
when  it  is  necessary  for  him  to  do  this. 
Come,  let  us  crawl  upon  him  unawares !" 

They  proceeded  cautiously  and  with 
catlike  steps  around  the  next  projection, 
and  stood  upon  a  narrow  strip  of  slant 
ing  terrace.  At  short  intervals  the  pound 
ing  noise  continued,  but,  strain  their 
eyes  as  they  might,  they  could  see  noth 
ing.  Yet  they  knew  that  a  few  paces 
from  them,  in  the  darkness,  the  old 
chief  was  painfully  driving  his  massive 
horns  against  the  solid  rock.  So  they  lay 


The  Gray  Chieftain  179 

flat  upon  the  ground  under  a  dead  cedar, 
whose  trunk  and  the  color  of  the  scanty 
soil  resembled  their  clothing,  and  on  their 
heads  they  had  stuck  some  bunches  of 
sage-bush,  to  conceal  them  from  the  eyes 
of  the  Spoonhorn. 

With  the  first  gray  of  the  approaching 
dawn  the  two  hunters  looked  eagerly 
about  them.  There,  in  all  his  majesty, 
heightened  by  the  wild  grandeur  of  his 
surroundings,  stood  the  Gray  Chieftain 
of  the  Cedar  Butte!  He  had  no  thought 
of  being  observed  at  that  hour.  Entirely 
unsuspicious  of  danger,  he  stood  alone 
upon  a  pedestal-like  terrace,  from  which 
vantage-point  it  was  his  wont  to  survey 
the  surrounding  country  every  morning. 
If  the  secret  must  be  told,  he  had  done 
so  for  years,  ever  since  he  became  the 
head  chief  of  the  Cedar  Butte  clan. 

It  is  the  custom  of  their  tribe  that 
when  a  ram  attains  the  age  of  five  years 
he  is  entitled  to  a  clan  of  his  own.  He 
must  thereafter  defend  his  right  and  su 
premacy  against  all  comers.  His  expe 
rience  and  knowledge  are  the  guide  of 
his  clan.  In  view  of  all  this,  the  Gray 
Chieftain  had  been  very  thorough  in 
his  observations.  There  was  not  an  ob 
ject  anywhere  near  the  shape  of  bear, 
wolf,  or  man  for  miles  around  his  king- 


i8o  Harper's  Novelettes 

dom  upon  Hanta  Pahah  that  was  not 
noted,  as  well  as  the  relative  positions  of 
rocks  and  conspicuous  trees. 

The  best  time  for  Haykinskah  to  make 
his  daily  observations  is  at  sunrise  and 
sunset,  when  the  air  is  usually  clear  and 
objects  appear  distinct.  Between  these 
times  the  clan  feed  and  settle  down  to 
chew  their  cud  and  sleep;  yet  some  are 
always  on  the  alert  to  catch  a  passing 
stranger  within  their  field  of  observation. 
But  the  old  chief  Spoonhorn  pays  very 
little  attention.  He  may  be  nestled  in  a 
gulch  just  big  enough  to  hold  him,  either 
sound  asleep  or  leisurely  chewing  his 
cud.  The  younger  members  of  the  clan 
take  their  position  upon  the  upper  ter 
races  of  the  great  and  almost  inaccessible 
butte,  under  the  shade  of  its  projecting 
rocks,  after  a  whole  night's  feasting  and 
play  upon  the  plain. 

As  Spoonhorn  stood  motionless,  look 
ing  away  off  toward  the  distant  hills, 
the  plain  below  appeared  from  this  ele 
vated  point  very  smooth  and  sheetlike, 
and  every  moving  object  a  mere  speck. 
His  form  and  color  were  not  very  differ 
ent  from  the  dirty  gray  rocks  and  clay 
of  the  butte. 

Wahye  broke  the  silence:  "I  know  of 
no  animal  that  stands  so  long  without 


The  Gray  Chieftain  181 

movement,  unless  it  is  the  turtle.  I  think 
he  is  the  largest  ram  I  have  ever  seen." 

"I  am  sure  he  did  not  chip  where  he 
stands  now,"  remarked  Grayfoot.  "  This 
chipping  -  place  is  a  monastery  to  the 
priests  of  the  Spoonhorn  tribe.  It  is 
their  medicine-man's  lodge.  I  have  more 
than  once  approached  the  spot,  but  could 
never  find  the  secret  entrance." 

"  Shall  I  shoot  him  now  ?"  whispered 
his  partner  in  the  chase. 

"  No,  do  not  do  it.  He  is  a  real  chief. 
He  looks  mysterious  and  noble.  Let  us 
learn  to  know  him  better.  Besides,  if  we 
kill  him  we  will  never  see  him  again. 
Look;  he  will  fall  to  that  deep  gulch  ten 
trees'  length  below,  where  no  one  can 
get  at  him." 

As  Grayfoot  spoke,  the  animal  shifted 
his  position,  facing  them  squarely.  The 
two  men  closed  their  eyes  and  wrinkled 
their  motionless  faces  into  the  semblance 
of  two  lifeless  mummies.  The  old  sage 
of  the  mountains  was  apparently  de 
ceived;  but  after  a  few  moments  he  got 
down  from  his  lofty  position  and  disap 
peared  around  a  point  of  rock. 

"  I  never  care  to  shoot  an  animal  while 
he  is  giving  me  a  chance  to  know  his 
ways,"  explained  Grayfoot.  "  We  have 
plenty  of  buffalo  meat.  We  are  not  hun- 


182  Harper's  Novelettes 

gry.  'All  we  want  is  spoons.  We  can  get 
one  or  two  sheep  by  and  by,  if  we  have 
more  wit  than  they." 

To  this  speech  Wahye  agreed,  for  his 
curiosity  was  now  fully  aroused  by  Gray- 
foot's  view,  although  he  had  never  before 
thought  of  it  in  that  way.  It  had  always 
been  the  desire  for  meat  that  had  chiefly 
moved  him  in  the  matter  of  the  hunt. 

Having  readjusted  their  sage  wigs,  the 
hunters  made  the  circuit  of  the  abyss 
that  divided  them  from  the  ram,  and 
as  they  looked  for  his  trail,  they  noticed 
the  tracks  of  a  large  ewe  leading  down 
toward  the  inaccessible  gulches. 

"Ah!  she  has  some  secret  down  there. 
She  never  leaves  her  clan  like  this,  un 
less  it  is  to  steal  away  for  a  personal 
affair  of  her  own." 

So  saying,  Grayfoot  and  his  fellow 
tracked  the  ewe's  footprint  along  the 
verge  of  a  deep  gulch  with  much  trouble 
and  patience.  The  hunter's  curiosity 
and  a  strong  desire  to  know  her  secret 
impelled  the  former  to  lead  the  way. 

"What  will  be  our  profit  if  one  slips 
and  goes  down  into  the  gulch,  never  to 
be  seen  again?"  remarked  Wahye,  as 
they  approached  a  leaping  -  place.  The 
chasm  below  was  of  a  great  depth  and 
dark.  "It  is  not  wise  for  us  to  follow 


The  Gray  Chieftain  183 

farther;  this  ewe  has  no  horns  that  can 
be  made  into  spoons." 

"  Come,  friend,  it  is  when  one  is 
doubting-  that  mishaps  are  apt  to  occur," 
urged  his  companion. 

"Koda,  heyu  yo!"  exclaimed  Wahye 
the  next  moment  in  distress. 

"Hehehe,  koda!  hold  fast!"  cried  the 
other. 

Wahye's  moccasined  foot  had  slipped 
on  the  narrow  trail,  and  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  he  had  almost  gone  down  a 
precipice  of  a  hundred  feet;  but  by  a  des 
perate  launch  forward  he  caught  the 
bough  of  an  overhanging  cedar  and  swung 
by  his  hands  over  the  abyss. 

Quickly  Grayfoot  pulled  both  their 
bows  from  the  quivers.  He  first  tied 
himself  to  the  trunk  of  the  cedar  with  his 
packing-strap,  which  always  hung  from 
his  belt.  Then  he  held  both  the  bows 
toward  his  friend,  who,  not  without  diffi 
culty,  changed  his  hold  from  the  cedar 
bough  to  the  bows.  After  a  short  but  de 
termined  effort  the  two  men  stood  side 
by  side  once  more  upon  the  narrow  foot 
hold  of  the  terrace.  Without  a  word  they 
followed  the  ewe's  track  to  the  cave. 

Here  she  had  lain  last  night!  Both 
men  began  to  search  for  other  marks, 
but  they  found  not  so  much  as  a  sign 


1 84  Harper's  Novelettes 

of  scratching  anywhere.  They  exam 
ined  the  ground  closely,  but  without  suc 
cess.  All  at  once  a  faint  "  ba-a-a  "  came 
from  almost  under  their  feet.  They  saw 
a  puff  of  smokelike  dust  as  the  little 
creature  called  for  its  mother.  It  had  felt 
the  footsteps  of  the  hunters,  and  mis 
taken  them  for  those  of  its  own  folk. 

Wahye  hastily  dug  into  the  place  with 
his  hands  and  found  the  soil  loose.  Soon 
he  uncovered  the  little  lamb.  "  Ba-a-a," 
it  cried  again,  and  quick  as  a  flash 
the  ewe  appeared,  stamping  the  ground 
in  wrath. 

Wahye  seized  an  arrow  and  fitted  it 
to  the  string,  but  his  companion  checked 
him.  "  No,  no,  my  friend.  It  is  not  the 
skin  or  meat  that  we  are  looking  for. 
We  want  horn  for  ladles  and  spoons. 
The  mother  is  right.  We  must  let  her 
babe  alone." 

The  wild  hunters  silently  retreated, 
and  the  ewe  ran  swiftly  to  the  spot  and 
took  her  lamb  away. 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Grayfoot,  after  a  long 
silence,  "  all  the  tribes  of  earth  have 
some  common  feeling.  I  believe  they  are 
people  as  much  as  we  are.  The  Great 
Mystery  has  made  them  what  they  are. 
Although  they  do  not  speak  our  tongue, 
we  seem  to  understand  their  thought. 


The  Gray  Chieftain  185 

It  is  not  right  to  take  the  life  of  any 
of  them  unless  necessity  compels  us  to 
do  so. 

"  You  know,"  he  continued,  "  the  ewe 
conceals  her  lamb  in  this  way  until  she 
has  trained  it  to  escape  from  its  enemies 
by  leaping  up  or  down  from  terrace  to 
terrace.  I  have  seen  her  teaching  the 
yearlings  and  two-year-olds  to  dive  down 
the  face  of  a  cliff  which  was  fully  twice 
the  height  of  a  man.  They  strike  on  the 
head  and  the  two  forefeet.  The  ram 
falls  largely  upon  his  horns,  which  are 
curved  in  such  a  way  as  to  protect  them 
from  injury.  The  body  rebounds  slight 
ly,  and  they  get  upon  their  feet  as  easily 
as  if  they  had  struck  a  pillow.  At  first 
the  yearlings  hesitate  and  almost  lose 
their  balance,  but  the  mother  makes  them 
repeat  the  performance  until  they  have 
accomplished  it  to  her  satisfaction. 

"  They  are  then  trained  to  leap  chasms 
on  all  fours,  and  finally  the  upward  jump, 
which  is  a  more  difficult  feat.  If  the 
height  is  not  great  they  can  clear  it  neat 
ly,  but  if  it  is  too  high  for  that,  they 
will  catch  the  rocky  ledge  with  their  fore 
feet  and  pull  themselves  up  like  a  man. 

"  In  assisting  their  young  to  gain 
upper  terraces  they  show  much  ingenuity. 
I  once  saw  them  make  a  ladder  of  their 

13 


1 86  Harper's  Novelettes 

bodies.  The  biggest  ram.  stood  braced 
against  the  steep  wall  as  high  as  his  body 
could  reach,  head  placed  between  his  fore 
feet,  while  the  next  biggest  one  rode  his 
hind  parts,  and  so  on  until  the  little  ones 
could  walk  upon  their  broad  backs  to  the 
top.  We  know  that  all  animals  make 
their  young  ones  practise  such  feats  as 
are  necessary  to  their  safety  and  advan 
tage,  and  thus  it  is  that  these  people 
are  so  well  fitted  to  their  peculiar  mode 
of  life. 

"How  often  we  are  outwitted  by  the 
animals  we  hunt!  The  Great  Mystery 
gives  them  this  chance  to  save  their  lives 
by  eluding  the  hunter,  when  they  have 
no  weapons  of  defence.  The  ewe  has  seen 
us,  and  she  has  doubtless  warned  all  the 
clan  of  danger." 

But  there  was  one  that  she  did  not  see ! 
When  the  old  chief  left  his  clan  to  go 
to  the  secret  place  for  chipping  his  horns, 
the  place  where  many  a  past  monarch  of 
the  Bad  Lands  has  performed  that  pain 
ful  operation,  he  did  not  intend  to  re 
join  them  immediately.  It  was  custom 
ary  with  him  at  that  time  to  seek 
solitude  and  sleep. 

The  two  hunters  found  and  carefully 
examined  the  tracks  of  the  fleeing  clan. 
The  old  ram  was  not  among  them.  As 


The  Gray  Chieftain  187 

they  followed  the  trail  along  the  terrace 
they  came  to  a  leaping-place  which  did 
not  appear  to  be  generally  used.  Gray- 
foot  stopped  and  kneeled  down  to  scruti 
nize  the  ground  below.  "Ho!"  he  ex 
claimed,  "the  old  chief  has  gone  down 
this  trail,  but  has  not  returned.  He  is 
lying  down  near  his  chipping-place,  if 
there  is  no  other  outlet  from  there." 

Both  leaped  to  the  next  terrace  below, 
and  followed  the  secret  pass  into  a  rocky 
amphitheatre,  opening  out  from  the  ter 
race  upon  which  they  had  first  seen  the 
old  ram.  Here  he  lay  asleep. 

Wahye  pulled  an  arrow  from  his 
quiver. 

"Yes,"  said  his  friend,  "shoot  now! 

The  old  chief  awoke  to  behold  the  most 
dreaded  hunter — man — upon  the  very 
threshold  of  his  sanctuary!  Wildly  he 
sprang  upward  to  gain  the  top  of  the 
cliff.  But  Wahye  was  expert  and  quick 
in  the  use  of  his  weapon.  He  had  sent 
into  his  side  a  shaft  that  was  deadly. 
The  monarch's  forehoofs  caught  the 
edge — he  struggled  bravely  for  a  moment, 
then  fell  limply  to  the  floor  below. 

"He  is  dead.  My  friend,  the  noblest 
of  chiefs  is  dead!"  exclaimed  Grayfoot 
as  he  stood  over  him,  in  great  admiration 
and  respect  for  the  Gray  Chieftain. 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto 

BY    ZOE    DANA    UNDERIIILL 

YOU  ask  me  if  I  believe  in  ghosts.  Of 
course  I  do.    I  believe  in  them  be 
cause  I  have  felt  one.    It  was  in  a 
ruin,  too,  the  correct  place  for  ghosts; 
but  not  exactly  in  the  right  kind  of  ruin, 
for  there  was  nothing  imposing  or  weird 
about   it;   it  was   a   dusty,   tumble-down 
adobe  shanty  in  New  Mexico. 

Do  you  remember  Harry  Felters — 
what  great  promise  he  gave  as  a  young 
artist,  and  how  he  never  came  to  any 
thing?  He  and  I  were  great  chums  at 
the  Art  School,  and  afterwards  we  fell 
into  the  way  of  going  on  sketching  tours 
together.  He  was  a  nice  fellow,  quick 
tempered,  but  very  good-natured  too,  and 
it  would  have  been  hard  to  find  a  jollier 
companion.  I  was  delighted  one  autumn 
when  he  proposed  we  should  make  a  little 
Western  excursion  together;  he  wanted 
to  get  some  of  the  atmospheric  effects  on 
the  high  plains.  .  We  started  in  Septem 
ber,  bought  ourselves  a  couple  of  broncos 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacmto       189 

when  we  reached  the  country  we  wanted, 
and  started  off  on  the  trail  which  ran 
near  the  railroad.  We  had  splendid 
weather,  took  all  the  time  we  wanted,  and 
got  a  lot  of  first-rate  things;  but  Felters 
was  looking  forward  all  the  time  to  stop 
ping"  at  a  little  Mexican  village — San 
Jacinto,  the  name  was — which  lay  some 
distance  off  the  main  trail,  but  which  he 
had  heard  was  the  rarest  place.  A  friend 
of  his  had  been  there  a  couple  of  years 
before,  but  had  only  been  able  to  stay  a 
day  or  so.  He  reported  a  tolerable  inn, 
and  we  planned  to  stop  for  several  weeks, 
making  excursions  into  the  surrounding 
country,  and  getting  what  we  were 
particularly  anxious  for — some  character 
sketches  of  the  natives.  We  had  the 
pleasantest  anticipations  of  our  time 
there. 

The  day  before  we  expected  to  reach 
San  Jacinto  we  struck  off  on  to  a  side 
trail  across  the  hills.  We  learned  after 
wards  that  there  was  more  danger  in  un 
dertaking  this  lonely  journey  than  we 
had  any  idea  of  at  the  time,  but  we  came 
to  no  harm.  We  slept  out  that  night, 
and  late  the  next  afternoon  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  village,  perched  half-way  up 
a  long,  sloping  mesa.  We  reached  it  as 
the  sun  was  setting.  There  was  but  a 


i  go  Harper's  Novelettes 

single  street  running  between  low  adobe 
huts,  but,  to  our  surprise,  this  street  was 
thronged  with  Mexicans  and  Indians 
in  holiday  costumes — fierce,  agile-looking 
fellows  in  thumping  hats,  and  slim  girls 
with  mantillas  over  their  heads. 

We  mustered  our  slender  stock  of 
Spanish,  and  inquired  of  the  first  group 
we  met  the  reason  of  the  crowd.  We 
found  some  local  fair  was  in  progress, 
and  it  was  not  only  the  inhabitants  of 
San  Jacinto  we  beheld,  but  of  all  the  set 
tlements  for  fifty  miles  around.  Harry, 
in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight,  was 
gaping  at  all  the  wrinkled  old  men  and 
dark-eyed  girls,  in  their  picturesque  ar 
ray,  but  I  was  hungry,  and  not  willing  to 
waste  time  on  the  picturesque  just  then, 
so  I  hauled  him  along,  protesting  and 
turning  round  all  the  time,  towards  what 
had  been  pointed  out  to  us  as  the  inn  we 
were  in  search  of.  It  stood  quite  at  the 
other  end  of  the  street,  and  looked  bigger 
and  more  imposing  than  the  rest  of  the 
houses,  being  newly  painted  a  fine  brick- 
color. 

"  Here  we  are  at  last,  and  a  good  thing 
too,"  said  I,  as  the  owner  of  the  house 
came  bustling  out  to  receive  us.  He  hur 
ried  us  into  a  long,  crowded  room,  and 
set  a  couple  of  cooling  drinks  before  us 


The  Inn  of   San  Jacinto       191 

in  enormous  glasses  before  we  had  time 
to  speak,  chattering  all  the  time  with 
great  civility.  But  as  soon  as  we  be 
gan  to  talk  of  rooms  he  sang  a  different 
tune. 

"Ah,  sefiores,"  he  cried,  in  a  despair 
ing  tone,  "  that  is  an  impossibility,  quite 
an  impossibility.  Every  inch  of  room  in 
the  house  is  taken — is  crowded,  I  may 
say.  As  soon  as  they  are  done  drinking 
and  singing  we  put  mattresses  down  on 
the  floor  of  the  eating-room  here;  and  I 
will  try  my  best  to  find  a  corner  for  a 
mattress  for  the  two  noble  gentlemen. 
Mattresses  in  plenty  I  have,  but  no  space 
to  spread  them,  unfortunately." 

"Well,  well,"  broke  in  Harry,  "it 
isn't  mattresses  we  want.  It's  a  room  to 
ourselves  to  sleep  in.  Surely  we  can  find 
something  at  some  of  the  neighbors'.  We 
won't  grumble  if  it's  a  little  one." 

But  the  landlord  shook  his  head.  "  No, 
no,"  he  reiterated;  "there  isn't  an  empty 
space  anywhere  in  the  village  big  enough 
to  hold  a  canary-bird.  Every  house  is 
full." 

"  But  you  must  have  some  little  corner 
or  cupboard  you  could  put  us  in.  Your 
own  room,  for  instance.  If  we  pay  you 
well,  couldn't  you  move  out  of  that  for  a 
night  or  two,  just  till  this  fair  is  over?" 


1 92  Harper's  Novelettes 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I 
haven't  slept  in  my  own  room  for  three 
nights.  Seven  women  have  it,"  he  said. 
"  I  take  one  of  the  benches  down  here." 

"Very  well,"  cried  Harry,  who  was 
getting  out  of  temper;  "then  we  will 
simply  go  on  without  stopping.  We  meant 
to  spend  several  weeks  here,  but  of  course 
if  you  haven't  accommodations — "  And 
he  turned  and  picked  up  his  saddle 
bags  from  the  bench  where  he  had  flung 
them. 

"Oh,  come,  now,  Harry,"  said  I,  "we 
don't  want  to  leave  the  moment  we  get 
here.  For  a  few  nights  we  can  certainly 
stand  it,  and  then  it  will  quiet  down 
again." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cried  the  landlord,  evident 
ly  much  impressed  to  hear  of  the  long 
stay  we  had  intended,  and  anxious  to 
detain  us  if  promises  would  do  it;  "oh 
yes,  yes !  By  the  end  of  the  week  the  fair 
is  over,  and  then  you  can  have  splendid 
rooms — as  many  rooms  as  you  like." 

But  as  you  know,  Harry  was  always  a 
pig-headed  fellow.  He  buckled  his  bags 
tight. 

"  No,"  said  he ;  "  I'm  not  going  to  sleep 
in  any  such  mess  as  this.  If  we  can't 
have  rooms  to  ourselves,  we  go  on  to 
night.  That's  all  about  it," 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto       193 

The  landlord  wrung  his  hands.  "  Ah," 
he  cried,  "  what  a  shame !  what  a  shame ! 
To  have  the  gentlemen  leave  my  house!'' 
Then  I  saw  a  sly  gleam  come  into  his 
eye.  "  Ah,"  he  cried,  "  I  have  it !  I  have 
it!  If  the  gentlemen  would  only  be  sat 
isfied.  Do  you  mind,  perhaps,  if  you 
sleep  in  a  very  old  room?  Oh,  very,  very 
old!" 

"  No,  no !"  we  interposed,  in  a  breath. 

"  But  it  is  very  old,"  he  went  on,  look 
ing  at  us  narrowly,  "  and  there  is  but  the 
one  room  for  the  two." 

"That  is  nothing,"  we  cried.  "We 
won't  mind  that  in  the  least,  as  long  as 
we  don't  have  to  sleep  on  the  floor  with 
strangers." 

"  And  even  there,"  he  went  on,  "  I 
fear  you  would  have  to  occupy  the  same 
bed;  there  is  but  one  bedstead  in  the 
room.  To  be  sure,"  he  said,  reflectively, 
"  one  of  you  might  have  a  mattress  on 
the  floor  even  there,  but  it  would  be  very 
cold,  I  fear.  The  floor  is  of  stone,  and 
the  dampness — " 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  we  interrupted ; 
"  for  three  or  four  nights  it  won't  matter, 
as  long  as  we  can  have  the  room  to 
ourselves." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  he  reiterated, 
"  to  yourselves.  I  should  not  think  of 


1 94  Harper's  Novelettes 

putting  any  one  else  in  the  room  of  tlio 
two  noble  gentlemen.  Sit  down,  sit 
down,  and  make  yourselves  easy.  I  will 
send  my  niece  to  make  ready  for  you. 
You  must  not  expect  too  much,  gentle 
men.  It  is  in  the  old  part  of  the  house 
that  has  gone  to  ruin  a  good  deal;  that 
is  why  I  never  thought  of  it  before.  But 
this  one  room  is  strongly  built.  It  is 
safe  enough;  you  need  have  no  fear  of 
roof  or  walls.  But  it  is  dusty;  I  must 
have  it  swept."  And  so  talking  on,  half 
to  himself  and  half  to  us,  he  filled  our 
glasses  again,  and  got  himself  out  of  the 
room.  Presently  we  heard  his  voice 
outside  calling,  "  Julita !  Julita !"  and 
then  a  long  and  rather  vehement  whis 
pered  conversation  was  carried  on  not 
far  from  the  window. 

It  was  an  hour  or  more,  and  we  had 
finished  our  supper,  before  he  returned  to 
show  us  to  our  apartment.  We  found  it 
was  in  a  deserted  building  whose  presence 
we  had  not  even  suspected  from  the  front 
of  the  house.  It  lay  far  to  the  back  and 
one  side,  and  was,  our  host  told  us,  the 
old  original  inn,  which  had  been  built  by 
his  great-uncle  several  times  removed, 
and  had  fallen  too  much  out  of  repair  to 
use.  But  the  room  to  which  he  led  us  was 
still  in  tolerable  preservation,  a  queer  old 


The  Inn  of  San  Jadnto        195 

place,  with  walls  and  floor  of  rough  stone, 
and  lighted  by  a  small  grated  window 
high  up  at  one  side.  They  had  set  in  a 
few  odd  pieces  of  furniture  for  us,  and  a 
big  four-post  bedstead,  which  looked  as 
old  as  the  room,  was  piled  high  with  an 
enormous  feather-bed.  For  the  bedstead 
our  host  apologized  profusely.  Not  to  be 
able  to  furnish  us  at  least  with  separate 
sleeping  accommodations  weighed  heavi 
ly  on  his  spirits.  But  what  could  he  do? 
It  was  to  be  regarded  as  good-fortune 
that  the  old  bedstead  had  not  long  since 
been  brought  into  the  house  and  given  to 
earlier  comers.  Its  age  and  weight  were 
the  sole  reasons  it  was  still  at  our  dis 
posal.  For  the  feather-bed  he  did  not 
think  it  necessary  to  apologize,  though 
that  was  certainly  what  seemed  most  for 
midable  to  us.  However,  we  were  pleased 
enough  to  get  anything  to  ourselves,  and 
told  him  so. 

We  went  back  to  the  big  hall,  and  sat 
there  awhile  smoking  and  watching  the 
queer  collection  of  humanity  it  held,  but 
we  were  both  tired  with  our  ride,  and 
presently  asked  the  landlord  for  our  can 
dles.  He  brought  them,  one  for  each, 
and  each  with  a  little  box  of  Swedish 
matches  beside  it  on  the  candlestick. 
But  he  was  a  long  time  lighting  them, 


196  Harper's  Novelettes 

snuffed  them  out  once  or  twice,  and  final 
ly  said,  with  a  curious  air  of  gravity  for 
so  slight  a  speech: 

"  The  gentlemen  see  that  our  candles 
are  not  easy  to  light.  Might  I  beg  of 
them  to  leave  the  night-light  burning  in 
their  chamber?" 

"  Night-light  ?"  cried  Harry,  brusquely. 
"  Oh  no,  we  don't  want  a  night-light. 
There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  those 
candles.  It's  only  the  clumsy  way  you 
snuffed  them."  And  with  the  word  he 
drew  a  match  from  his  pocket,  lit  it 
quickly,  and  in  a  moment  had  the  candle 
burning  clearly. 

The  landlord  looked  perturbed.  "  See ! 
see !"  he  cried.  "  Once  the  candle  may 
light  quickly,  and  another  time  it  may 
not.  The  little  light  will  not  disturb  you. 
I  beg  the  gentlemen  will  leave  it  burn 
ing.  There  will  be  no  extra  charge — 
none  whatever."  And  he  looked  at  us 
anxiously. 

"  Oh,  nonsense !"  said  Harry,  turning 
away  with  his  candle. 

But  the  landlord  must  have  thought 
I  was  of  a  more  accommodating  disposi 
tion,  for  now  he  caught  me  by  the  coat 
sleeve.  "  I  beg,  I  beg,"  he  repeated ;  and, 
tired  of  his  persistence,  I  answered,  care 
lessly,  "  Oh,  all  right;  I  won't  put  it  out," 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto        197 

and  left  before  he  had  time  to  say  any 
thing  more. 

But  we  were  not  yet  free  from  impor 
tunities  about  our  lights,  for  as  we  passed 
the  kitchen  his  fat  old  wife,  who  super 
intended  the  cooking  for  her  husband's 
guests,  waddled  towards  us. 

"  Candles !  candles  1"  she  panted.  "  Oh, 
they're  no  good.  You'll  blow  them  out 
before  you  think  twice.  But  look  out 
not  to  disturb  the  little  night-light  .Julita 
set  up  in  the  niche.  That  '11  give  you 
light  enough  to  see  by  all  night." 

"  Good  Lord !  what  do  we  want  to  see 
for?  The  night's  made  for  sleeping," 
cried  Harry,  roughly,  and  dragged  me 
through  the  kitchen  like  a  whirlwind, 
while  behind  us  we  still  heard  the  wheez 
ing  voice  of  the  old  woman  discours 
ing  on  the  insufficiency  of  candles  and 
the  superior  advantages  of  Julita's  oil- 
taper. 

We  had  not  done  with  the  advocates  of 
the  night-light  even  yet.  As  we  made 
our  way  through  the  dusty  passage, 
stumbling  over  the  broken  slabs  of  stone 
which  formed  its  floor,  we  encountered 
Julita  herself,  pale  and  trembling,  and 
regarding  with  anxious  fear  the  lantern 
which  she  held  in  her  hand.  She  jumped 
aside  with  a  scream  when  she  caught 


198  Harper's  Novelettes 

sight  of  us?,  then  laid  her  hand  on  her 
heart  with  a  look  of  relief. 

"  Oh,  blessed  saints,  it  is  the  gentle 
men  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  have  just  been 
to  look  after  the  light  in  your  room  my 
self."  She  spoke  as  one  conscious  of 
having  bestowed  an  inestimable  favor. 
"It  is  burning  brightly.  The  little  oil- 
lamp  is  high  up  in  the  niche  of  the  wall ; 
nothing  can  overturn  it.  The  oil  is  of 
the  best.  It  will  burn  all  night — " 

"  Oh,  come !"  cried  Harry,  who  by  this 
time  had  entirely  lost  his  temper.  "  Who 
wants  your  infernal  lamp!  For  Heav 
en's  sake,  let  us  have  a  little  peace  and 
darkness.'7 

"Ah,  no,  no!"  cried  the  girl,  recoiling 
as  if  he  had  struck  her — "not  darkness! 
The  gracious  gentleman  did  not  think  of 
what  he  was  saying.  Oh,  sir,"  laying 
her  hand  on  my  arm  as  Harry  pushed 
angrily  past  her,  "  you  surely  would  not 
put  out  the  light?  You  will  surely  let  it 
burn  all  night  ?"  and  she  looked  at  me  as 
desperately  as  if  she  were  imploring  me 
not  to  cut  my  throat.  Her  eyes  were  full 
of  tears.  I  felt  sorry  for  such  distress, 
even  while  I  was  annoyed  by  these  con 
tinuous  appeals  from  a  singularly  light- 
loving  populace,  and  answered,  hastily: 

"Oh,    certainly,    certainly,    my    good 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto        199 

girl."  Slipping  past  her,  I  contrived  to 
get  into  the  room  and  shut  the  door  be 
fore  she  could  speak  again. 

Harry  came  up  and  locked  it. 

"Confound  them!"  he  said;  "what  is 
the  matter  with  them,  all?  We  have 
matches,  I  hope.  Why  should  they  take 
such  a  particularly  fervent  interest  in  our 
lamp  ?"  and  he  laid  his  match-box  on  the 
chair  at  the  head  of  the  ponderous  bed 
stead,  beside  the  candle  which  he  had  just 
extinguished. 

Then  he  reached  up  and  blew  out  the 
little  flame  in  the  niche  above  our  heads. 

"  There!"  said  he;  "I  hope  that's  done 
with  for  to-night,  anyway." 

"  Oh,  Harry,"  I  remonstrated,  "  I  told 
the  girl  I  wouldn't  put  it  out." 

"  Well,  you  haven't,  have  you  ?"  he  re 
joined,  roughly.  "  Now  you'd  better  not 
talk  any  more  of  that  intolerable  non 
sense,  or  I  shall  get  into  a  temper.  Put 
out  your  own  light  when  you're  ready  to 
go  to  sleep,  and  that's  the  end  of  it.  I'm 
tired  to  death." 

It  wasn't  five  minutes  before  he  had 
tumbled  into  the  wide  bed,  nor  five  more 
before  he  was  asleep.  I  felt  wakeful,  and 
made  my  preparations  in  a  more  leisurely 
way,  but  presently  I  too  stretched  out 
my  weary  limbs  on  the  soft  feathers. 


200  Harper's  Novelettes 

The  little  window  with  its  iron  bars  stood 
diagonally  across  from  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  and  as  I  blew  out  my  candle  and 
sank  back  on  the  pillow  my  eyes  fell  on 
the  dim  gray  square.  I  seemed  to  see 
some  vague  black  form  pass  between  mo 
and  it.  My  heart  gave  a  sudden  throb, 
and  I  started  to  raise  myself;  but  before 
I  had  done  so  I  felt  in  the  darkness  some 
thing  fly  at  my  throat.  My  hands  went 
up  instinctively,  and  grasped  the  thick 
cold  fingers  which  were  clutching  me  so 
tightly  that  it  was  impossible  to  breathe. 
The  terror  of  death  fell  upon  me,  and 
with  all  my  strength  I  tore  at  the  invisi 
ble  hands  which  wTere  squeezing  my  life 
out,  but  I  could  no  more  move  them  than 
I  could  have  moved  the  solid  rock.  I 
was  powerless  to  make  a  sound.  I  set 
my  head  and  shoulders  against  the  bulk 
which  pressed  upon  me  and  tried  to  push 
it  back,  but  vainly,  though  in  my  agony 
I  writhed  and  twisted  like  a  snake.  I  felt 
that  I  was  growing  faint,  my  head  rang, 
and  my  senses  were  faltering,  when  in 
my  convulsive  movements  my  foot  touch 
ed  Harry's  warm  and  sleeping  body.  T 
gathered  myself  together,  and  struck  out 
with  all  the  strength  I  had  left,  I  felt 
him  roll  over,  and  then  that  he  was  sit 
ting  up  in  bed.  It  was  like  heaven  to 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto        201 

know  that  lie  was  beside  me  and  roused, 
but  even  then  I  thought  to  myself  there 
was  little  chance  of  his  coming  to  my 
rescue  in  time. 

Harry  called  to  me  once  or  twice,  and 
then  I  felt  his  hand  laid  on  my  heaving 
shoulder.  The  next  moment  I  heard  him 
jump  out  of  bed,  and  it  seemed  not  a 
second  before  the  flare  of  a  candle  lit  up 
the  room.  The  pressure  was  gone  from 
my  throat.  I  drew  in  the  air  again  and 
yet  again,  but  was  still  too  exhausted  and 
bewildered  to  know  anything  but  that  the 
struggle  was  over,  and  I  was  once  more 
drawing  the  blessed  breath  of  life. 

"Good  gracious!  What's  the  matter 
with  you  ?"  I  heard  Harry  say ;  but  I  only 
moaned. 

"Here,  wake  up!"  he  cried,  and  shook 
me  by  the  shoulder.  I  lifted  myself  on 
one  elbow,  and  looked  around  with  a 
shudder.  There  was  nothing  in  sight  but 
Harry,  who  was  looking  at  me  sharply. 
I  put  my  hand  to  my  throat;  it  was 
bruised  and  sore  to  the  touch. 

"Oh,  Harry,"  I  panted,  "something 
awful  has  happened!" 

"  Something  awful !"  he  repeated. 
"You've  had  an  awful  nightmare,  that's 
what's  the  matter — and  you  aren't  awake 
yet,  either.  Shake  yourself  together,  man, 

14 


2O2  Harper *s  Novelettes 

can't  yon?  You  look  as  if  you'd  seen  a 
ghost.  I  declare  your  eyes  are  all  blood 
shot.  Oh,  nonsense!"  as  I  slipped  back 
on  the  pillow,  with  a  sigh.  "  Come,  brace 
up,  and  have  a  little  style  about  you." 

"  Oh,  Harry,"  I  reiterated,  "  there  has 
been  something-  awful.  It's-  no  night 
mare.  I  wasn't  asleep.  The  minute  the 
light  was  out  some  one — something — 
came  at  my  throat.  In  another  moment 
I  should  have  been  strangled,  if  you 
hadn't  waked." 

"Why,  I  didn't  do  anything,  except 
jump  out  of  bed  when  you  kicked  me. 
You  needn't  thank  me  for  anything  more 
than  waking  you  up — and  that  isn't  half 
done  yet." 

"Oh,  I'm  awake  enough!"  I  cried. 
"  Well,  then,"  said  he,  "  that's  all  there 
is  to  be  said  about  it.  "We'll  blow  out 
the  light  and  try  our  hand  at  sleeping 
again,"  arid  as  he  spoke  he  bent  over  the 
candle  to  extinguish  it ;  but  I  caught  him 
and  pulled  him  away  quickly. 

"No,  no!"  I  shouted,  filled  with  un 
controllable  terror;  "let  it  burn.  Light 
the  little  night-lamp,  won't  you?  I've 
had  such  a  scare  I'm  afraid  to  be  left  in 
the  dark." 

"All  right,"  he  answered,  with  a 
laugh;  "we'll  keep  the  promise  to  Julita 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto        203 

the  rest  of  the  night,  anyway.  I  suppose 
it  was  your  uneasy  conscience  wouldn't 
let  you  rest." 

In  a  few  moments  more  he  was  again 
sound  asleep  beside  me,  but  my  fears 
were  not  so  easily  quieted.  A  hundred 
imaginary  noises  made  me  start  up  to 
peer  into  the  distant  corners  of  the  room, 
or  look  up  at  the  black  square  of  the  win 
dow;  and  at  every  little  quiver  of  the 
tiny  flame  burning  in  the  niche  my  heart 
jumped.  I  lay  awake  till  the  dawn  came 
in  at  the  grated  casement,  and  then  fell 
asleep,  utterly  worn  out. 

Harry  was  moving  about  the  room, 
humming  a  song,  when  I  woke.  The 
bright  sun  was  shining  through  the  bars 
of  the  window.  I  felt  ashamed  of  myself, 
and  when  he  caught  my  eye  he  broke  into 
a  roar  of  laughter. 

"Well,  I  say,"  he  shouted,  "I  hope 
you've  managed  to  pluck  up  a  little  spirit 
this  morning.  I  never  saw  a  man  scared 
so  blue  in  my  life.  For  Heaven's  sake, 
tell  us  what  you  were  dreaming  about. 
A  whole  menagerie,  I  should  say.  How's 
your  neck  this  morning?"  And  he  went 
off  into  a  fresh  peal  of  laughter. 

"Well,  laugh  if  you  like,"  said  I;  "it 
was  awful.  I  can't  imagine  how  I  came 
to  get  into  such  a  state.  Good  Heavens! 


204  Harper's  Novelettes 

I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it  even  now."  I 
paused  a  moment,  for  as  the  memory  of 
the  night's  grisly  phantom  came  back 
clearly,  an  intolerable  shiver  of  fear  went 
through  me.  "  Besides,"  I  went  on,  "  my 
neck  is  all  sore  still.  I  believe  you  can 
see  the  bruises." 

"  By  Jove !"  he  said,  coming  up  and 
looking  at  me  closely.  "  By  Jove !"  he 
repeated,  touching  my  throat  gingerly 
with  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  "  That's  the 
most  curious  thing  I  ever  saw!  You're 
all  black  and  blue!  How  did  you  do 
it?" 

"That's  more  than  I  know,"  said  I, 
"unless  the  thing  that  came  at  me  last 
night  did  it."  And  then  I  told  him  every 
detail  of  my  curious  experience  of  the 
night.  As  I  told  it  my  own  faith  in  its 
reality  grew,  and  I  could  see  that  he  was 
impressed  with  the  same  feeling;  but 
when  I  came  to  the  end  he  shook  himself, 
seemed  to  gather  his  routed  forces,  and 
gave  an  incredulous  laugh  again. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  looking  down  at  me 
from  his  great  height — "  well,  that  cer 
tainly  is  a  queer  story.  And  you  think 
all  that  could  go  on  with  me  asleep  right 
beside  you  and  me  not  know  it?  Eh? 
Oh,  nonsense!  You  had  a  nightmare,  of 
course,  and  that's  what  made  you  kick 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto        205 

out  so.  My  shins  are  as  black  and  blue 
as  your  neck." 

"Yes,  and  what  made  my  neck  black 
and  blue  ?"  I  broke  in.  "  Do  you  suppose 
you  had  the  nightmare  too,  and  were  try 
ing  to  twist  it?" 

"No,  no!  Of  course  not,"  said  he. 
"You  must  have  twisted  your  own  fin 
gers  around  it  in  your  sleep  somehow. 
That  isn't  so  unlikely  as  that  a  phantom 
tried  to  throttle  you."  And  he  gave  anew 
a  boisterous  laugh. 

There  was  no  use  in  arguing  with  him ; 
and  besides,  I  had  no  tenable  ground  for 
argument.  I  could  not  bring  myself  to 
believe  in  his  explanation;  but  still  less 
could  I,  in  the  full  light  of  reason  and 
glare  of  day,  believe  in  the  unseen  foe 
who  had  made  the  darkness  of  night  so 
horrible.  With  an  effort  I  succeeded  in 
dismissing  the  whole  thing  from  my 
mind,  and  dressed  to  join  Harry  in  the 
sketching  excursions  which  we  had 
planned  the  day  before.  Julita  was  in 
the  passage  as  we  went  through  to  break 
fast.  She  did  not  seem  busy  about  any 
thing,  and  by  her  attitude  I  judged  she 
had  been  watching  our  door.  At  any 
rate,  as  we  opened  it  her  face  was  pale 
and  troubled,  but  a  moment  later  broke 
into  smiles  as  she  saw  us  both  emerge 


206  Harper's  Novelettes 

from  the  room.  The  landlord,  too,  greet 
ed  us  with  fervor,  and  served  us  an  excel 
lent  breakfast,  which  his  fat  wife  came 
in  to  watch  us  eat.  Indeed,  every  one 
about  the  inn  seemed  to  take  an  interest 
in  us,  and  gathered  in  the  doorways  to 
look  at  us.  This  we  attributed  to  the 
fact  that  we  were,  in  a  way,  foreigners; 
and  they  were  all  so  good-natured  about 
it.  breaking  out  into  smiles  and  expres 
sions  of  satisfaction  whenever  we  looked 
their  way,  that  we  did  not  mind. 

We  had  a  successful  day  of  it,  gather 
ing  in  a  collection  of  queer  and  pictu 
resque  figures,  and  didn't  get  back  till 
dark.  I  had  felt  strangely  tired  all  day, 
and  was  glad  to  yield  to  Harry's  sugges 
tion  that  we  should  go  early  to  bed.  He 
stuck  his  sketches  all  around,  and  gloated 
over  them  in  the  dim  illumination  of  the 
candles;  but  I  was  overcome  with  sleep, 
and  tumbled  into  bed  as  quickly  as  I 
could. 

''I'll  get  on  the  other  side,  Harry,"  I 
said,  "  if  you  aren't  ready  to  come  yet." 

"  All  right,  old  man,"  said  he,  walking 
back  and  forth  before  his  pictures.  "  I'm 
not  ready  yet.  I  hope  this  light  won't 
keep  you  awake." 

"On^the  contrary,"  said  I,  "I  much 
prefer  it.  I  can't  forget  my  bad  dreams 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto        207 

so  quickly.  Do  leave  the  little  night- 
light  burning,  Harry,  like  a  good  fellow." 

"All  right,"  he  answered;  and  in  a 
moment  I  was  asleep. 

I  don't  know  how  long  afterwards  it 
was  that  I  was  awakened  abruptly  by  be 
ing  pushed  almost  out  of  bed.  I  was  so 
sound  asleep  that  I  could  not  collect  my 
thoughts  all  at  once,  and  lay  for  a  mo 
ment  trying  to  rouse  myself,  when  the 
blow  was  violently  repeated,  and  then  I 
became  aware  that  Harry  was  writhing 
and  beating  his  arms  about  at  my  side. 
In  a  sudden  spasm  of  terror  I  sprang  out 
of  bed,  ran  round  to  the  other  side  where 
the  matches  were,  and  struck  the  whole 
bunch  as  I  gathered  them  in  my  hand. 
They  flared  up,  and  shivering  with  fright, 
I  moved  to  the  bedside.  There  lay  Har 
ry,  his  eyes  staring  wide  with  horror,  and 
drawing  occasionally  a  long  moaning 
breath.  I  knew  well  enough  what  it  was, 
and  wasted  no  time  on  questions,  but 
hurried  to  light  the  candle  before  the 
matches  should  go  out.  Then,  for  safety, 
I  also  reached  up  and  kindled  the  little 
taper,  which  Harry  had  evidently  ex 
tinguished,  as  the  oil  in  the  glass  was 
scarcely  consumed.  Afterwards  I  turned 
back  to  Harry,  drew  the  covers  away  to 
give  him  air,  carried  the  light  to  the  foot 


208  Harper's  Novelettes 

of  the  bed,  where  his  eyes  could  rest 
upon  it,  and  draw  from  it  the  reassurance 
that  I  knew  nothing  else  could  give,  and 
softly  chafed  his  nerveless  hands.  Pres 
ently  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the 
wild  and  wandering  look  die  out  of  his 
face  and  a  certain  composure  return  to  it. 
He  was  evidently  getting  possession  of 
his  faculties. 

"  Well,  Harry,"  I  said,  when  I  saw 
this,  "  I  suppose  you  have  had  the  night 
mare?" 

A  sickly  smile  drew  up  the  corners  of 
his  mouth. 

"  Confound  you,"  he  murmured,  "  I 
was  just  thinking  that  was  the  first  thing 
you  would  say,  and  now  you've  said  it! 
Good  Heavens!"  he  cried,  in  a  louder 
tone,  raising  himself  in  bed  and  peering 
around  the  room,  "  I  can't  believe  the 
hideous  thing  is  gone.  Are  you  sure  it 
isn't  in  one  of  the  corners  yet?  I  tell 
you  I  had  a  narrow  squeak  for  my  life. 
I  wouldn't  care  to  come  so  near  death 
again  in  a  hurry.  If  that  last  kick  hadn't 
routed  you  out  I  knew  I  should  never 
have  strength  enough  for  another.  Oh, 
what  terror!"  The  wild  look  came  back 
as  he  talked;  he  raised  his  hand  and  felt 
of  his  throat,  which,  from  where  I  stood, 
I  could  see  was  red  and  swollen. 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacmto        209 

"It  is  hideous,"  said  I.  "You  surely 
must  know  now  it  was  no  nightmare." 
He  nodded,  and  gave  again  a  quick, 
frightened  look  about.  I  went  on : 

"It — it  is  something  that  only  comes 
in  the  dark.  It  cannot  be  a  real  thing, 
for  it  is  gone  with  the  first  ray  of  light. 
It  is  real  enough  to  strangle  a  man, 
though.  Heavens,  Harry,  suppose  either 
of  us  had  slept  here  alone!"  We  both 
shuddered. 

After  a  little  while  Harry  quieted 
down,  but  there  was  very  little  sleep  for 
either  of  us  that  night.  We  lighted 
everything  within  reach.  I  had  a  trav 
elling  lamp  with  me,  and  Harry  hauled 
out  of  his  bag  one  of  those  little  pocket- 
lanterns  that  his  sister  had  packed  in  just 
as  he  was  leaving  home.  He  said  he 
laughed  at  her  when  she  did  it,  but  we 
were  glad  enough  to  see  it  now.  We 
dozed  and  woke  at  intervals,  always  re 
assured  to  see  our  improvised  illumina 
tion  when  we  unclosed  our  eyes.  Every 
thing  was  still  as  the  grave,  and  except 
for  our  excited  nerves  we  might  have 
rested  in  peace  the  whole  night  through. 
When  daylight  came  we  both  gave  a 
sigh  of  relief,  and  turning  over,  fell  into 
a  sleep  so  heavy  that  we  never  stirred 


210  Harper's  Novelettes 

until  we  were  wakened  by  a  tremendous 
thumping  at  the  door. 

"For  the  love  of  God,"  we  heard  the 
landlord's  voice  shouting  outside,  "  an 
swer  me,  gentlemen!  Answer  me!  Are 
you  well  ?  Are  you  safe  ?  Speak,  gentle 
men  !  Answer  me !" 

Between  his  rough  tones  we  heard 
sighs  and  ejaculations,  the  low  talking  of 
men,  and  the  rustling  of  petticoats. 

"  Why,  we're  all  right,"  I  called  back, 
and  then  came  a  chorus  of  congratula 
tions  and  thanksgiving  to  all  the  saints 
from  behind  the  door.  Evidently  there 
had  been  a  little  crowd  in  the  hall,  for 
we  could  hear  them  dispersing. 

We  talked  the  matter  over  as  we  were 
dressing.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  thor 
oughly  frightened,  and  felt  sick  of  the 
whole  business.  I  couldn't  understand 
it,  and  the  more  I  thought  of  it  the  more 
I  disliked  it.  I  didn't  attempt  to  conceal 
my  feelings,  either.  I  said  outright  that 
I  was  scared  and  wanted  to  get  away, 
and  proposed  to  Harry  that  as  soon  as  we 
had  had  our  breakfast  we  should  saddle 
our  horses  and  ride  off  on  the  trail.  From 
the  stories  we  had  heard  since  we  reach 
ed  the  village  I  understood  better  than  I 
had  done  what  risk  there  was  in  such  a 
lonely  ride,  but  I  would  a  great  deal 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacmto        211 

rather  be  killed  by  a  red  man  in  the  day 
light  than  by  a  monster  in  the  dark,  and 
1  said  so.  But  Harry  took  quite  a  differ 
ent  view  of  the  matter.  The  effect  of 
choking  on  his  disposition  seemed  to  be 
the  reverse  of  depression,  and  he  talked 
in  a  vindictive  way  of  our  invisible  as 
sailant. 

"  No,  you  don't !"  he  said,  when  I  tried 
to  persuade  him  to  leave.  "  Not  much  I 
go  till  I  know  what  is  the  matter  here. 
You  couldn't  drag  me  away  with  wild 
horses  till  I've  had  another  wrestle  with 
that  thing !" 

"Mercy,  Harry!"  said  I;  "I  don't  see 
why  you  want  another;  one  would  have 
finished  you  quite  if  I  hadn't  been  there 
to  help  you.  Look  at  your  throat  now; 
it's  purple  and  red;  you'll  have  to  tie  a 
handkerchief  or  something  round  it  to 
make  yourself  presentable.  Whatever 
that  awful  thing  was,  it  was  stronger 
than  you  or  I.  What  can  you  want  to 
meet  it  again  for?  Prudence  is  the  bet 
ter  part  of  valor,  and  I  propose  to  quit 
this  horrible  spot  before  I  am  an  hour 
older." 

"You'll  quit  it  alone,  then,"  he  said, 
sulkily,  "for  I'm  not  going  with  you. 
I'm  going  to  stay  and  see  it  out." 

I  reasoned  and  expostulated  with  him, 


212  Harper's  Novelettes 

but  all  to  no  purpose.  He  was  as  obsti 
nate  as  a  mule.  I  could  not  face  the  pos 
sible  Indians  by  myself,  and  still  less 
could  I  leave  bim  to  confront  alone  the 
dangers  which  I  believed  threatened  him 
if  he  remained.  I  told  him  that  if  he 
stayed,  I  did,  and  then  we  laid  our  plans. 
Harry  had  no  theory  at  all  to  account 
for  our  strange  experience;  he  simply 
said  he  would  not  go  away  until  he  had 
fathomed  it.  Whatever  the  risks  might 
be,  he  wished,  while  wide-awake  and  in 
full  possession  of  his  faculties,  to  put  out 
the  light,  and  encounter  the  attack  of  our 
midnight  enemy. 

Through  the  previous  day  we  had 
scarcely  spoken  of  my  adventure  of  the 
first  night,  having  by  tacit  agreement  al 
luded  to  it  as  a  nightmare.  Now,  after 
what  Harry  had  gone  through,  this  ex 
planation  was  no  longer  tenable.  Still, 
we  decided  it  would  be  better  to  say  noth 
ing  of  it  to  any  one  outside.  When  we 
issued  from  our  room  we  found  ourselves 
again  the  centre  of  interest  for  all  the 
frequenters  of  the  inn.  Those  who  did 
not  come  forward  to  speak  to  us  peeked 
at  us  from  behind  corners.  A  continu 
ous  procession  passed  through  the  room 
where  we  took  breakfast,  all  on  the  alert 
for  our  every  movement.  The  landlord 


The  Inn  of  San  Jadnto        213 

apologized  by  saying  we  were  strangers, 
and  every  one  was  naturally  struck  by 
our  elegant  appearance,  and  also  that, 
owing  to  our  habit  of  late  rising,  the  sim 
ple  people  of  the  town  had  become  some 
what  anxious  lest  it  might  be  an  illness 
or  other  untoward  occurrence  which  had 
kept  us  in  our  room  so  long.  I  imagined 
that  he  either  knew  something  of  our  ad 
venture  or  suspected  it,  from  the  sharp 
ness  with  which  he  looked  at  us.  But  we 
gave  him  no  satisfaction,  simply  assured 
him  that  we  were  in  the  habit  of  sleeping 
late,  that  we  were  charmed  to  inspire  in 
terest  in  the  bosoms  of  the  appreciative 
inhabitants  of  San  Jacinto,  and  should 
always  endeavor  to  live  up  to  the  reputa 
tion  for  elegance  which  he  so  kindly  im 
puted  to  us. 

We  sketched  all  day.  When  night 
came  and  we  retreated  to  our  room,  it  was 
with  the  intention  of  thoroughly  investi 
gating  the  mystery.  We  had  already 
taken  occasion  to  inspect  the  outside  of 
the  building  in  the  daytime.  The  room 
in  which  we  slept  was  part  of  an  old 
adobe  structure,  so  far  gone  to  ruin  that 
this  was  the  only  portion  in  good  preser 
vation.  The  walls  of  this  one  room,  how 
ever,  were  perfectly  solid.  Nowhere  was 
there  a  flaw  in  them.  There  could  be  no 


214  Harper's  Novelettes 

possible  entrance  from  the  outside  except 
by  the  door  and  small  grated  window  in 
the  hall. 

When  we  locked  our  door  for  the  night 
we  placed  some  percussion-caps  in  such 
a  way  that  they  must  explode  if  it  were 
opened  even  a  crack.  Then  we  turned 
our  attention  to  the  inside  of  the  cham 
ber.  We  peered  into  every  crack  and 
cranny  of  the  wall,  which  offered  plenty 
of  opportunity  for  such  investigation. 
But  in  spite  of  its  rough  and  irregular 
surface  it  was  absolutely  sound;  the 
stones  were  heavy  and  well  joined;  there 
was  not  an  aperture  anywhere  big  enough 
for  a  man  to  get  his  fingers  through, 
much  less  his  whole  body.  The  roof  was 
perfectly  tight.  Then  we  turned  our  at 
tention  to  the  window,  and  examined  that 
with  special  care;  for  I  found  that  with 
Harry,  as  with  me,  the  first  premonition 
of  approaching  danger  had  been  the  pass 
ing  of  some  indistinct  dark  body  across 
its  misty  square.  But  here  as  elsewhere 
it  was  evidently  impossible  that  any  sub 
stantial  form  should  have  found  en 
trance.  The  sides  of  the  aperture  were 
thick  and  strong,  and  the  whole  opening 
crossed  by  three  iron  bars  as  big  as  my 
thumb,  let  into  the  solid  stone,  and 
clamped  down  so  securely  that  there  could 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacmto        215 

be  no  chance  of  their  ever  having  moved 
since  they  were  put  in.  The  intervals 
between  them  were  scarcely  two  inches 
across. 

We  went  all  over  the  floor.  It  was 
made  of  rough  stones  set  in  the  firm 
earth.  Nowhere  did  it  give  a  hollow 
sound,  and  its  condition  showed  the  sur 
face  could  not  have  been  disturbed  for 
untold  years.  We  took  everything  off  the 
bed,  and  looked  beneath  it.  We  moved 
the  two  or  three  small  pieces  of  furniture 
which  had  been  set  into  the  room  since 
our  arrival.  Finally,  absolutely  satisfied 
that  there  was  no  avenue  by  which  any 
human  being  could  enter  the  apartment, 
we  made  our  preparations  for  the  night. 
Each  set  a  chair  at  the  head  of  the  bed 
just  within  reach  of  his  own  hand,  and 
on  it  a  candle  and  a  plentiful  supply  of 
matches.  Our  revolvers  we  laid,  Harry 
under  his  pillow,  and  I  on  the  chair  be 
side  me.  As  we  calculated,  the  enemy 
could  attack  but  one  of  us  at  a  time,  and 
as  the  other  would  be  on  the  watch,  it 
should  be  easy  to  overpower  him  from 
behind. 

We  lay  down,  fully  dressed,  on  either 
side  of  the  bed,  and  I  blew  out  my  can 
dle. 

"  Are  you  all  ready  ?"  said  Harry. 


216  Harper's  Novelettes 

I  cast  a  quick  glance  about  the  room, 
and  said: 

"Yes,  ready." 

Pie  extinguished  the  remaining  light. 
For  a  moment  there  was  perfect  silence. 
Then  across  the  window  we  both  saw,  or 
rather  felt  than  saw,  through  the  dark 
ness,  a  vague  shape  pass.  Harry  touched 
me  with  his  elbow ;  the  next  second  I  felt 
my  throat  clutched  in  a  grasp  so  fierce 
that  all  hope  of  freeing  myself  from  it 
died  within  me.  My  one  thought  was 
that  as  the  creature  had  attacked  me, 
Harry  would  be  able  to  rescue  me,  and  as 
the  clutch  tightened  I  was  filled  with  a 
blind  fury  at  his  delay.  It  was  just  then 
that  a  frantic  plunge  at  my  side  made 
me  aware  that  Harry,  like  myself,  was 
fighting  silently  and  wildly;  his  arms 
struck  me  as  he  hit  out,  and  his  kicks 
were  as  furious  as  his  blows.  I  raised 
my  hand  again  to  tear,  however  vainly, 
at  the  thick  fingers  closed  around  my 
throat.  There  was  but  one  hand  there, 
and  as  my  senses  swam  for  want  of  breath 
I  realized  that  the  creature  must  be  hold 
ing  Harry  and  me  both,  one  in  each  hand. 
In  my  struggle  I  had  moved  so  far  across 
the  bed  that  I  could  not  reach  the 
matches.  Yet  I  knew  that  there  lay  our 
only  chance  for  life,  and  with  a  sudden 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto        217 

convulsive  effort  I  managed,  not  to  shake 
off  the  clutch,  but  in  spite  of  it  to  press 
so  far  to  one  side  that  I  felt  my  hand 
touch  the  edge  of  the  chair.  It  gave  me 
new  strength  to  know  myself  so  near  to 
light  and  life,  and  with  a  second  strug 
gle  I  laid  my  hand  upon  the  matches, 
raised  and  struck  them  against  the  side 
of  the  bed.  I  had  never  known  such  hap 
piness  before — I  never  shall  again — as 
shot  through  my  heart  when  my  blurred 
eyes  saw  the  first  flicker  of  the  tiny  blue 
flame.  The  next  instant,  as  the  yellow 
blaze  flared  up,  the  awful  constriction 
was  gone  from  my  windpipe.  For  a 
second  I  lay  still,  unable  to  do  more  than 
draw  a  faint  and  painful  breath,  then 
terror  lest  the  tiny  sticks  should  burn 
out  and  leave  me  in  darkness  nerved  my 
fainting  will.  I  put  out  my  other  hand, 
gathered  more  matches,  kindled  them  at 
the  first,  and  holding  the  bunch  like  a 
tiny  torch,  I  leaned  over  and  lighted  the 
candle.  Exhausted  by  the  effort,  I  fell 
back  fainting  on  the  pillow. 

When  I  came  to,  the  candle  was  burn 
ing  brightly.  I  opened  my  eyes  with  a 
sigh  to  drink  in  the  luxury  of  the  light, 
then  closed  them  again  in  utter  weari 
ness,  and  lay  without  a  thought,  content 
ed  in  the  blissful  consciousness  that  I 
15 


2i 8  Harper's  Novelettes 

was  alive  and  safe.  I  must  have  remained 
so  for  some  time,  when  there  suddenly 
went  through  my  half -torpid  brain  a 
memory  of  Harry.  I  had  not  felt  him 
move,  and  the  thought  alarmed  me  so 
that  I  sat  up  in  bed,  as  if  roused  by  an 
electric  shock,  and  bent  over  him.  His 
eyes  were  staring  wide,  but  he  lay  mo 
tionless,  and  made  no  response  when  I 
called  him  by  name.  I  laid  my  hand  on 
his  forehead.  It  was  warm.  So  was  his 
hand,  though  it  dropped  nervelessly  from 
mine  when  I  left  hold  of  it.  I  fancied  I 
could  detect  a  faint  breath  drawn  at  long 
intervals,  and  a  slight,  but  very  slight, 
pulsation  of  the  heart.  There  was  evi 
dently  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  I  jumped 
from  the  bed,  though  I  found  I  was  so 
bruised  and  sore  with  struggling  that 
every  movement  brought  sharp  pain.  I 
ran  to  the  door,  and  in  spite  of  the  un 
reasoning  horror  which  attacked  me  of 
letting  in  the  darkness,  I  flung  it  open 
and  shouted  with  all  my  might  for  help. 
A  few  seconds  of  such  clamor  and  I 
heard  answering  voices;  a  moment  more, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  people  by  the  hun 
dred,  all  bearing  lamps,  candles,  lanterns, 
began  to  stream  along  the  corridor.  They 
flocked  into  the  room,  and  it  scarcely 
needed  my  few  hasty  words  to  set  them  to 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto        219 

work  with  Harry.  Almost  before  I  had 
spoken  they  had  him  stripped,  and  three 
or  four  active  Mexicans  were  rubbing 
and  kneading  him  like  so  many  furies. 
The  women  flew  for  hot  water  and 
brandy.  In  a  few  moments  a  long  shud 
dering  sigh  told  that  his  vital  forces  were 
returning,  and  in  a  little  more  I  had  what 
was  to  me  the  ineffable  satisfaction  of 
seeing  his  eyelids  close,  and  shut  out  the 
look  of  horror  which  had  seemed  stamped 
upon  the  eyeballs  beneath  them. 

Of  course  we  moved  Harry  out  of  that 
room  immediately,  but  it  took  weeks  of 
the  most  careful  nursing  before  he  could 
leave  San  Jacinto.  During  all  that  time, 
as  you  may  well  believe,  I  spent  every 
moment  I  could  spare  from  him  in  trying 
to  fathom  the  causes  of  our  horrible  ex 
perience.  But  the  more  I  searched  the 
more  inexplicable  the  whole  affair  be 
came.  At  first  I  very  naturally  suspect 
ed  that  it  was  part  of  some  scheme  for 
robbery  or  murder  on  the  part  of  the  peo 
ple  of  the  inn,  but  I  soon  became  con 
vinced  that  they  were  perfectly  innocent. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  sincerity  of 
their  concern  for  what  had  happened,  nor 
the  simple  friendliness  with  which  they 
helped  to  care  for  Harry.  They  were 
coarse  and  superstitious  people,  but  not 


220          Harper's  Novelettes 

criminal,  and  not  unkindly.  I  detected, 
however,  a  certain  shade  of  self-reproach, 
if  not  remorse,  in  their  manner,  and  when 
I  had  probed  this  to  the  bottom  I  had 
found  the  only  explanation  for  the  whole 
affair  which  I  ever  reached.  It  was  so 
utterly  unreasonable  that  I  can  only  give 
it  to  you  and  leave  you  to  make  what  you 
can  of  it. 

When  we  carried  Harry  to  the  miser 
able  little  adobe  hut  at  the  other  end  of 
the  street,  which  was  hastily  abandoned 
for  his  use,  I  heard  an  uproar  behind  us 
in  the  direction  of  the  inn,  to  which  at 
the  time  I  paid  no  attention.  And  dur 
ing  that  afternoon,  in  the  intervals  be 
tween  Harry's  repeated  fainting  attacks, 
I  heard  shouts,  mixed  with  hollow  crash 
ing  sounds,  for  which  I  did  not  even  try 
to  account.  But  when  in  the  course  of  a 
few  days  I  permitted  myself  a  short  walk, 
I  strolled  in  the  direction  of  the  inn,  and 
there  found  that  the  ruinous  structure  in 
which  we  had  lodged  had  been  torn  down. 
The  big  stones  lay  scattered  in  every  di 
rection,  but  not  one  remained  on  top  of 
another.  I  asked  the  landlord  what  it 
meant. 

"  Ah,  seiior,"  said  he,  "  it  was  the  peo 
ple  that  did  it.  They  would  not  let  the 
old  building  stand  another  hour.  And 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto        221 

perhaps  they  were  right,  though  the  loss 
is  mine.  I  am  happier  myself  now  that 
it  is  down.  Who  knows?  Some  time  in 
the  future  I  might  have  been  tempted 
again  by  greed  to  let  some  luckless  trav 
eller  have  that  room.  The  senor  knows 
our  people  are  very  superstitious,  and 
make  more  of  such  things  than  those  in 
the  great  world.  I  wished  to  be  wiser 
than  my  neighbors — the  saints  pardon 
me !  When  the  traveller  was  found  dead 
there  fifteen  years  ago  I  made  sure  he 
had  died  of  some  sudden  illness;  and  as 
for  the  two  who  died  there  in  my  father's 
time,  and  the  others  before  that,  I  forced 
myself  to  disbelieve  in  them.  But  the 
senor's  story  of  what  happened  the  other 
night  has  taught  me  better.  The  place 
was  accursed.  It  is  well  that  it  has  been 
destroyed." 

I  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  calling 
it  accursed,  and  he  told  me  a  long  story 
of  the  old  house,  in  which  we  had  occu 
pied  the  only  habitable  chamber.  The 
building  was  over  a  hundred  years  old, 
and  had  been  occupied  for  many  years 
as  an  inn,  whose  visitors  were  the  Indians 
and  Mexicans  at  their  seasons  of  festival, 
and  such  few  travellers  as  made  their 
way  into  that  distant  region.  Some  sev 
enty-five  years  before  it  had  been  in  the 


222  Harper's  Novelettes 

possession  of  a  man  of  enormous  strength 
and  evil  disposition,  under  whose  rule 
the  place  gained  a  bad  reputation  exact 
ly  in  proportion  as  the  landlord  increased 
in  wealth.  Two  or  three  travellers  who 
were  known  to  have  money  about  them 
were  never  seen  again  after  entering  the 
doors ;  the  landlord  maintained  that  each 
of  them  had  continued  his  journey  the- 
next  day,  starting  before  dawn,  and  there 
was  no  one  to  gainsay  him.  Others  were 
found  dead  in  bed  with  black  marks  on 
their  throats,  but  beyond  these  there  was 
nothing  to  throw  suspicion  on  any  one 
person,  and  the  terror  with  which  the 
brutal  innkeeper  inspired  his  neighbors 
was  sufficient  to  crush  out  inquiry.  At 
last,  however,  the  landlord  was  caught 
in  the  act.  An  American  engineer,  car 
rying  a  large  sum  of  money,  had  passed 
through  the  town,  and  taken  shelter  at 
the  inn  for  the  night.  He  made  no  se 
cret  of  the  money  about  him,  perhaps 
because,  being  a  very  large  and  strong  man 
and  well  armed,  he  had  entire  confidence 
in  his  ability  to  keep  his  own.  But  that 
night  some  wretched  gringos,  who  were 
sleeping  on  tho  floor  of  the  kitchen, 
heard  a  shout  for  help.  Too  timid  to 
answer  the  call  themselves,  they  ran  for 
aid,  and  presently,  with  the  assistance 


The  Inn  of  San  Jacinto        223 

of  half  a  dozen  others,  burst  in  the  door 
of  the  man's  room.  They  found  the  man 
dead,  and  the  landlord  kneeling  on  the 
bed,  with  his  knotted  fingers  still  twist 
ed  round  the  throat  of  his  victim.  Be 
fore  he  could  stir,  while  he  was  still 
blinking  at  the  sudden  light  from  the 
broken  door,  he  was  shot  dead  by  another 
American,  a  miserable  tramp,  half  gam 
bler  and  half  drunkard,  who  had  joined 
in  breaking  open  the  door.  The  avenger, 
much  lauded  by  the  populace,  had  gone 
on  his  way  the  same  day.  The  two  bodies 
had  been  buried  side  by  side  outside  the 
town.  There  was  now  no  question  as  to 
the  cause  of  the  previous  deaths  and  dis 
appearances. 

But  the  room  in  which  such  ghastly 
crimes  had  been  committed  had  ever 
since  been  regarded  with  horror  by  the 
natives.  According  to  their  belief,  the 
man  who  died  in  the  commission  of  such 
a  deed  became  an  evil  spirit,  condemned 
to  exist  in  darkness,  and  to  repeat  for 
ever  the  awful  crime  in  which  his  last 
moments  had  been  spent.  For  years  the 
chamber  stood  unoccupied;  but  when, 
after  the  lapse  of  a  long  time,  stress  of 
company  made  it  necessary  to  use  it,  a 
strange  confirmation  of  their  faith  was 
given  to  the  superstitious. 


224  Harper's  Novelettes 

The  solitary  occupant,  who  had  retired 
the  night  before  apparently  in  good 
health,  was  found  dead  in  bed  the  next 
morning.  There  were  not  wanting  those 
who  affirmed  that  on  his  throat  were  the 
purple  marks  which  testified  to  the  pres 
ence  of  the  midnight  strangler.  However 
that  may  have  been,  within  the  next 
thirty  years  three  more  deaths  occurred 
in  the  same  mysterious  manner,  and  at 
the  time  of  the  last  so  great  was  the 
popular  horror  that  not  only  was  the 
room  itself  condemned  as  "  accursed," 
but  the  whole  building,  now  very  ruinous, 
was  abandoned,  and  a  new  one  erected 
nearer  the  street.  It  was  many  years 
since  the  old  room  had  been  occupied 
when  we  took  possession  of  it,  and  the 
temptation  to  the  landlord  to  keep  be 
neath  his  roof  the  two  Americans,  who 
to  his  eyes  were  simply  mines  of  future 
wealth,  had  proved  too  strong  to  be  over 
come.  He  had  salved  his  conscience  by 
arguing  that  the  tales  about  the  room 
were  a  parcel  of  foolish  superstitions  not 
worthy  the  notice  of  any  man  of  the 
world,  and,  in  addition,  that  wo  were  safe 
at  any  rate,  since  the  evil  spirit,  if  it  still 
haunted  those  walls,  could  attack  only  in 
the  darkness,  while  we  were  not  only  pro 
vided  with  abundant  means  of  illumina- 


The  Inn  of  San  Jadnto        225 

tion,  but  had  had  clearly  impressed  upon 
us  the  importance  of  using  them. 

And  now  you  know  what  has  really 
been  the  matter  with  Harry  Felters.  He 
has  never  fully  recovered  since  that  night. 
It  took  me  a  year  or  two  to  get  over  the 
shock,  but  he  never  did.  Whether  there 
was  some  actual  physical  injury  done  to 
him,  or  whether  the  fright  made  too  deep 
an  impression  on  his  nerves  ever  to  bo 
effaced,  I  cannot  tell  you.  But  from 
that  time  to  this  he  has  remained  ailing, 
and  good  for  nothing,  though  most  of 
the  time  he  is  reasonable  and  composed. 
He  is  subject,  though,  to  occasional  vio 
lent  attacks  of  terror.  But  these  come  on 
him  only  in  the  dark,  and  if  you  have 
ever  spent  any  time  with  him  you  will 
remember  with  what  elaborate  precau 
tions  he  surrounds  himself  against  be 
ing  left  even  for  a  moment  without  light. 
He  is  a  wreck. 


Tio  Juan 

BY   MAURICE   KINGSLET 


little  human,  lie  ain't  no 
bigger  nor  a  flittermouse  !  Let 
him  in  here,  you  long-legged, 
sleek-hided  Pedro,  you!  Come  here,  son 
ny.  What  ails  ye?"  And  Diamond 
Brand  Bill,  alias  Bill,  alias  William  Ir- 
win,  whilom  King  of  the  Mexico-Texan 
border,  "  uncoiled  "  part  of  his  length 
from  the  monte  game,  and  motioning 
aside  the  others,  beckoned  up  to  his  knee 
—  where  it  stood,  a  little  unclad  brown 
figure  —  a  boy  of  scarce  ten  years  old. 

There  was  nothing  strange  in  such  an 
apparition  at  the  famous  monte  deal  at 
Ojo  Oaliente  just  after  the  big  "round 
up  "  of  the  Encinillas  Valley.  General 
Terazas,  owner  of  the  valley,  and  ex-Gov 
ernor  of  the  state  of  Chihuahua,  had  or 
dered  the  "  round-up,"  and  to  it  came  all 
the  wild  characters  of  the  border.  The 
Apaches  were  pretty  bad  at  the  time,  but 
what  did  that  matter? 


Tfo  Juan  227 

"  We're  a  short  time  living,  and  a  long 
time  dead,"  as  Bill  sagely  remarked;  and 
consequently  under  the  western  branches 
of  the  willows  that  fringed  the  clear 
stream  welling  out  from  the  hill-side — 
the  only  water  for  miles  round — sat  or 
lounged  a  miscellaneous  throng. 

The  monte  table  was  only  a  sarape 
spread  on  the  arid  yellow  dust  of  the 
sand  waste — not  very  inviting;  but  the 
fame  of  the  Terazas  "  round-up "  had 
gone  forth  far  and  wide,  and  at  it  might 
be  seen  many  a  well-known  Southwestern 
face.  Even  Denver  had  sent  clown  Gen 
tleman  Jim,  a  poor  cousin,  and  decidedly 
lower  type,  of  our  old  friend  "  Mr.  John 
Oakhurst." 

El  Paso  was  represented  by  a  would- 
be-respectable  Jew;  but  whose  diamond- 
studded  fingers  had  been  a  leetle — just  a 
leetle — too  well  known  in  Leadville  the 
year  before. 

From  Chihuahua  came  a  young  gen 
tleman  got  up  in  all  the  gorgeous  para 
phernalia  of  Mexican  ranchero  dress — a 
black  jacket  laden  down  with  silver 
buckles  and  clasps;  an  equally  magnifi 
cent  pair  of  trousers,  so  tight-fitting  at 
knee,  calf,  and  ankle  that  they  seemed  to 
have  "  growed  on  him  when  he  was 
young."  These  topped  by  a  sombrero 


228  Harper's  Novelettes 

bedight  and  begirt  with  gold  braid,  gold 
lace,  and  gold  fringe.  However,  these 
gems  of  the  gambling  nobility  were  few 
and  far  between;  almost  all  were  Mexi 
can  and  border  vaqueros  in  native  pictu- 
rcsqueness  of  buckskins  and  heavy  goat 
or  jaguar  skin  overalls,  sitting  cross- 
legged  and  saturnine,  whose  only  motion 
was  to  fling  aside  the  enveloping  sarape 
and  "  rake  down  "  or  "  put  up  "  "  onzas," 
five-dollar  bills,  or  little  piles  of  silver 
dollars  clean  and  bright  from  the  Chi 
huahua  mint.  Outside  of  the  calls  of 
the  game— "Rey  en  la  Puerta!"  "  Copo 
al  siete!"  etc.,  etc.— hardly  a  word  was 
uttered.  The  great  game  of  the  meet 
ing  had  just  been  lost  and  won,  and 
even  Bill  was  thankful  for  a  change, 
when  he  espied  the  strange  figure  across 
the  sarape. 

^  All,  possibly,  in  the  front  row  had  no 
ticed  the  face,  but  no  attention  was  paid 
to  it  till  Bill's  exclamation,  and  across 
the  sarape  glided  the  little  brown  figure, 
clad  only  in  an  old  sheepskin  tied  round 
the  neck,  which,  after  resting  a  trembling 
hand  on  his  knee,  looked  first  into  his 
kindly  face,  and  then  glared  hollow-eyed 
round  the  circle  as  might  some  wild 
animal. 

Not    till    then   was    any   real    interest 


Tfo  Juan  229 

aroused,  and  a  chorus  of  "Who  is  he?" 
"What  is  it?"  "Where  does  he  come 
from?"  broke  out  in  tones  betokening 
more  a  sense  of  coining  danger  than  of 
surprise. 

"  What  is  it,  sonny  ?"  again  asked  Bill, 
patting  the  matted  black-brown  head. 

"  Tio  Juan,"  whispered  the  child.  "  He 
is  dead !  The  Brujo  came  and  stampeded 
the  sheep  and  goats,  and  I  hid — and — and 
— and — "  sbbbed  the  child. 

"The  Brujo!  Who  the  devil's  he? 
And  how  did  Tio  Juan  die,  you  poor  lit 
tle  starved  sinner?  Here  you,  Pedro, 
there,  get  some  water  and  a  tortilla.  The 
child's  'most  dead  of  drought,  and  has  little 
drum's  that  '  cinched  up  '  it  hain't  had  no 
more  in  it  nor  a  cayote  these  three  days, 
I'll  bet!  Why,  gosh  dern  my  buckskins 
if  the  child  hain't  fainted  I" 

As  Bill  took  the  body  in  his  arms  and 
strode  through  the  crowd  to  the  adobe 
ranch,  twenty-five  yards  away,  in  search 
of  some  of  the  "wimrnin  folk,"  many 
were  the  conjectures  hazarded  as  to  what 
had  happened.  The  child  was  a  stranger, 
evidently  half  dead  of  hunger  and 
thirst;  but  whence  or  where?  Who  was 
Tio  Juan,  and  how  he  had  died,  no  one 
could  imagine,  till  some  one  said,  "Los 
Apaches." 


230  Harper's  Novelettes 

The  Apaches!  The  words  were  hardly 
spoken  when  every  hand  felt  for  its  ac 
customed  weapon,  and  a  hasty  look  was 
given  round  the  evening  horizon  of  long 
dead  plain  northward,  followed  by  a  gen 
eral  movement  towards  the  horses  in  or 
tied  outside  the  corral ;  while  those  whose 
tamer  mounts  were  trying  to  pick  up  a 
scant  living  in  the  sage-brush  started  on 
a  run  to  bring  them  in. 

"Los  Apaches!  Los  Apaches!"  ran 
from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  not  a  man 
among  them  but  remembered  some  per 
sonal  encounter,  or  sad  tales  of  the  long 
haired  devils  swooping  down  on  to  a 
friend's  ranch  and  away  again,  to  leave 
behind  nor  trace  nor  sign  save  a  scene  too 
revoltingly  brutal  to  tell.  And  few  pres 
ent  but  cursed  the  "  round-up,"  and  its 
subsequent  three  days'  gamble  and  de 
bauch,  at  the  thought  of  wives  and  chil 
dren  on  many  a  lone  ranch  of  northern 
Chihuahua  that  might  be  pasturing  the 
little  flock  of  goats  and  brown-woolled 
sheep  this  evening,  or — ? 

"  Vamonos !  Let  us  go !  To  the  ranch 
es  !"  was  the  cry.  "  Hold  on !  Hold  on ! 
Who  said  it  was  the  Apaches?  Let's  see 
Bill!  Let's  see  the  child  first!  Per 
haps  it  is  only  a  scare!"  And  they 
crowded  into  the  ranch  to  find  the  poor 


Tfo  Juan  231 

child  lying  at  the  end  of  the  room,  while 
the  Big  Bill— Bill,  that  terror  of  men- 
was  bathing  its  head  as  tenderly  as  the 
Mexican  woman  in  whose  lap  it  lay 
moaning. 

Not  till  near  morning  could  the  little 
thing  give  its  story,  and  then  only  in 
disjointed  fragments;  but  with  such  ef 
fect  that  at  sunup  fifty  well-armed  men 
were  mounted  and  away  under  Diamond 
Brand  Bill  to  avenge  the  murder  of  Tio 
Juan. 

^Of  all  the  dreary  lives  that  God  in  His 
wisdom  has  allotted  to  mortals,  dull  and 
unchanging  from  day  to  day,  on  the 
dreariest  wastes  of  this  continent  the 
worst  by  far  is  that  of  the  Mexican  sheep- 
herder,  whether  on  the  American  or 
Spanish  side  of  the  border,  from  southern 
Colorado  to  Zacatecas.  To  such  a  life 
had  Tio  Juan  been  born ;  in  such  he  had 
existed  (one  can  hardly  say  "  lived  ")  for 
sixty  years,  pasturing  his  master's  herd 
of  long-legged  black,  white,  and  mottled 
sheep  and  many-colored  goats,  oblivious 
of  all  save  his  herd.  A  human  pariah 
by  force  of  circumstances,  not  from 
other  cause;  making  his  little  camp 
of  brush  where  grass  was  earliest  in 
spring,  and  moving  slowly  to  more  shel- 


232  Harper's  Novelettes 

tered  quarters  in  the  fall,  only  to  move 
again  the  next  spring.  Months  might 
pass  and  he  would  never  see  a  strange 
human  face. 

One  afternoon,  close  to  the  Laguna  de 
los  Patos,  a  squad  of  Gringo  cavalry, 
guided  by  Mexicans,  came  up  to  him  sud 
denly  as  he  was  waking  from  siesta,  and 
he  learned  that  the  Apaches  had  been 
raiding  along  the  border,  and  that  a  war 
of  extermination  against  them  had  been 
waging  for  a  year  around  him. 

His  son  had  become  his  helper,  had 
died,  and  a  grandson  —  our  little  waif 
who  broke  up  the  monte  game  at  Ojo 
Caliente — had  only  been  brought  into 
the  world,  'twould  seem,  to  follow,  in  his 
turn,  the  unending  round  of  lifeless  life, 
with  the  old  man  among  the  sheep  and 
goats  on  that  wide  desert. 

He  was  only  a  little  animal,  herding 
with  the  beasts  he  herded,  and  with  as 
little  knowledge  of  an  outside  world.  All 
he  felt  was  the  great  plain  below,  broken 
in  places  by  rocky  hills  and  mesas,  and 
the  great  sky  above ;  and  the  sensations — 
alas!  too  often  realized — of  heat,  cold, 
hunger,  and  thirst.  He  burrowed  under 
the  scant  branches  of  a  low  sage-bush  to 
escape  the  noonday  glare;  and  watched, 
panting,  the  great  yellow  columns  of 


TIO  Juan  233 

sand  whirls  towering  skyward,  wander 
ing  to  and  fro  across  the  desert;  and  put 
up  a  prayer  of  thanks  that  the  herd  was 
lying  quietly  round  him  to  "La  Santisi- 
ma  Virgen " ;  of  whom  he  had  vaguely 
heard  as  a  beautiful  lady  in  the  cathedral 
of  Chihuahua.  Half  an  hour  after,  look 
ing  at  his  nearly  empty  gourd  of  warm, 
semiputrid  water,  he  shook  it  to  see  if  it 
would  last  out  the  day,  and  wondered 
why,  away  under  the  eastern  sky,  should 
appear  and  disappear,  yet  not  exist  in 
truth,  those  wide  pools  and  lagoons  of 
clear  water,  with  animals  standing  among 
the  reeds  on  the  banks — such  lagoons  as 
Tio  Juan  had  told  him  was  the  "  La- 
guna  de  los  Patos,"  miles  to  the  north 
ward,  whence  every  year,  just  before 
the  cold  season,  his  grandfather  brought 
a  bundle  of  reeds  to  weave  into  a  rough 
mat  for  a  sparse  shelter  from  the 
cold  Norther  sweeping  down  over  the 
plain,  and  driving  herder  and  herded 
shivering  to  the  lee  side  of  the  rocks, 
where  all  snuggled  together  for  mutual 
warmth. 

Hunger !  How  well  he  knew  it !  'Twas 
bad  enough  every  day  tramping  weary 
and  often  foot  -  sore  behind  the  sheep, 
munching  at  intervals  a  piece  of  dry  tor 
tilla;  but  worse,  every  three  months, 

16 


234  Harper's  Novelettes 

when  Tio  Juan  ovorstaid  his  time  drink 
ing  at  Ojo  Caliente  and  forgot  the  poor 
boy  eking  out  the  last  of  the  tortillas  and 
frijoles  and  counting  each  morsel  as  it 
disappeared.  Tio  Juan,  though,  was  very 
kind,  and  they  had  lots  to  eat  for  a 
month  or  so  when  the  old  man  came  back 
again. 

He  wag  almost  companionless.  The 
two  shaggy  short-tailed  dogs,  Lobo  and 
Linda,  bearlike  and  wolfish,  did  not  make 
very  good  friends. 

What  he  did  really  like  were  the  fluffy 
long-eared  white  and  gray  jack  -  rabbits 
with  black  boots,  which  danced  queer 
dances  on  their  hind  legs  among  the 
sage-brush  every  April. 

Coyotes,  the  only  other  denizens  of  the 
waste,  he  hated  naturally.  They  slunk 
through  the  brush,  one  ear  cocked,  the 
other  dropped  cunningly,  picking  up  the 
toads,  lizards,  and  beetles  that  ought  to 
have  served  Lobo  and  Linda  for  supper. 
And  if  a  lamb  chanced  to  be  left  behind, 
and  neither  one  of  the  old  he-goats  or  the 
dogs  scented  them,  they  cut  its  throat 
and  drank  the  hot  blood,  and  then  came 
to  camp  at  night,  wailing,  chuckling, 
chattering,  in  hideous  glee.  They  were 
the  Brujos  (witches)  of  the  desert — chil 
dren,  Tio  Juan  said,  of  the  great  "  cattle 


Tio  Jtian  235 

devil,"*  who,  when  the  vaqueros  were  ly 
ing  asleep  by  their  cattle,  would  creep 
silently  up  to  a  bullock,  and  whisper 
something  in  its  ear  that  started  it  in 
sudden  fright,  and  in  a  second  more  the 
whole  herd  would  dash  madly  over  the 
plain  in  wild  unreasoning  stampede, 
regardless  of  watch-fires,  vaqueros,  and 
horses  trampled  out  of  existence  at  the 
cruel  bidding  of  the  "  cattle  devil." 

Such  and  such  like  had  been  the  daily 
round  of  life  and  thought  of  our  poor 
little  waif  from  four  years  old  till  about 
ten  days  before  our  story  opens,  when  he 
was  lying  under  a  sheepskin  one  morn 
ing  on  the  open  plain,  and  watching  the 
figure  of  Tio  Juan,  half  lying,  half  sit 
ting,  by  the  fire  of  sage  roots  sputtering 
under  the  gray  dawn,  with  Lobo  and  Lin 
da  yawning  on  the  other  side. 

Hist!  What  is  it?  The  dogs  listen, 
and  spring  up  growling;  the  flock  is 
aroused  and  on  foot;  a  dull  noise  'way 
out  in  the  darkness!  What  can  it  be? 


*  This  is  a  universal  superstition  among 
the  vaqueros,  inspired,  probably,  from  the 
suddenness  of  stampedes,  which  mostly  hap 
pen  without  known  cause  or  reason.  The 
"  cattle  devil  "  of  the  cowboy  is  called  "  Bru- 
jo  de  Los  Ganados"  (witch  of  the  flocks)  by 
Mexicans. 


236  Harper's  Novelettes 

No  cattle  are  pasturing  near,  yet  it 
sounds  like  the  gallop  of  cattle  or  horses. 
A  moment  more,  and  then  a  wild  exclama 
tion  from  his  grandfather,  "  Run,  my 
son!  run!  To  the  rocks!  Away — hide, 
and  don't  come  out  till  I  call!  Away!" 
All  is  commotion,  and  the  child  dives 
and  doubles  through  the  brush  and  cac 
tus  for  a  mile  to  the  rocky  point  at  the 
mouth  of  the  canon,  into  which  he  bur 
rows  like  a  rock-rabbit,  too  frightened  to 
know  or  listen  to  what  is  happening 
behind. 

Anxiously  he  waits  Tio  Juan's  call. 
The  gray  rocks  begin  to  glow  with  light. 
The  mesas  each  side  of  the  canon  grow 
yellow,  red,  and  then  white  under  the 
summer  sun.  'Tis  weary  waiting.  lie  is 
hungry  and  thirsty,  and  the  sun  now 
strikes  down  from  directly  overhead. 
Only  in  the  crevice  he  has  chosen  is  a 
little  nook  of  shade,  growing  less  and 
less,  less  and  less. 

The  sun  is  westerning  now,  and  the 
heat  from  the  rocks  unbearable.  More  he 
cannot  stand;  and  so,  faint  and  fright 
ened,  he  peeps  over  the  rocks  and  across 
the  plain. 

Mustering  courage,  he  creeps  over 
rock  after  rock,  and  then,  taking  advan 
tage  of  every  little  shrub,  glides  out  tow- 


Tio  Juan  237 

ards  the  place  he  had  left  before  dawn. 
By  the  way  he  finds  a  few  sheep,  and 
drives  them  tremblingly  on;  but  close  to 
camp  an  old  ewe  in  the  lead  stops  short, 
stamps,  and  with  a  frightened  bleat  scur 
ries  off  to  the  right,  followed  by  the 
others.  'Tis  no  use  chasing  them,  and 
with  a  growing  fear  of  disaster,  he  creeps 
straight  forward.  What  is  that  shaggy 
brown  thing  lying  under  a  shrub  ?  What 
is  snarling  beyond?  Another  step;  ho 
sees  it  is  old  Lobo,  stiff  and  grinning  in 
death.  He  pulls  the  little  knife  from  his 
girdle,  puts  a  stone  in  his  sling,  and  soon 
can  make  out  the  deserted  camp-fire,  by 
which  coyotes  are  tearing  at  two  dead 
sheep.  There  are  others  beyond.  The 
fire  is  out,  and  by  the  little  broken-down 
arbor  of  branches  he  finds  the  frijol  pot 
upturned  and  empty.  The  brush  is 
trampled  down  all  round.  Where  is  Tio 
Juan?  He  calls  aloud.  A  sheep  bleats 
here  and  there  in  answer;  coyotes  chat 
ter  and  howl.  He  calls  Linda  and  waits. 
Lobo  is  dead,  and  there  is  no  Tio  Juan, 
no  Linda !  Perhaps  they  are  getting  to 
gether  the  flock  scattered  by  the  Brujo. 
He  will  run  down  to  the  pool  to  get  some 
water,  and  cook  something  against  their 
return.  Those  two  sheep  the  coyotes 
were  eating  will  make  a  good  roast,  and 


238  Harper's  Novelettes 

the  Patron  always  allows  Tio  Juan  to  cat 
the  sheep  killed  by  mischance.  The  pool 
is  all  trampled  in  with  hoof-marks,  and 
it  is  hard  work  to  fill  his  little  gourd  and 
pot.  Returning,  he  takes  the  flint  and 
steel  from  his  waistband,  and  soon  has  a 
fire  started  with  some  sage-brush  roots. 
But  on  pulling  back  the  boughs  of  the 
arbor  to  get  at  the  corn  and  frijoles — 
Why,  what  is  this?  The  hole  in  which 
they  were  stored  is  open  and  empty! 
Hardly  a  grain  of  either  remains,  and 
yet  it  is  a  full  month  before  Tio  Juan 
can  go  again  to  Ojo  Caliente  to  draw 
more  rations/  Where  can  Tio  Juan  be? 
The  flock  must  be  dreadfully  scattered 
by  the  Brujo.  He  will  cache  the  meat  in 
the  hole,  and  round  up  all  of  them  he  can. 

By  nightfall  he  has  perhaps  one-fourth 
of  them  collected  together,  though  he  has 
seen  many  more  out  on  the  plain,  but 
too  far  off  to  follow  that  night.  Start 
ing  the  fire  again,  he  lies  down  by  it  to 
wait  Tio  Juan's  coming. 

What  can  have  happened  to  Tio  Juan  ? 
He  was  so  wise.  He  knew  all  the  trails 
far  south  to  Chihuahua,  and  away  up  the 
great  road  to  the  Medanos  (sand  dunes), 
and  where  the  first  grass  grew  in  the 
spring,  and  the  best  shelters  and  latest 
grass  in  the  fall. 


Tio  Juan  239 

There  was  no  use  waiting  longer, 
though,  that  night,  so  the  half-famished 
lad  broils  a  piece  of  meat,  and  lies  down 
to  doze  till  about  midnight,  when  the 
coyotes  return,  chattering  and  snarling, 
and  have  to  be  driven  away,  and  the 
sheep  quieted  down  again. 

The  moon  is  going  down,  and  it  is 
very  lonely.  Even  the  pale  moon  was 
something  cheering.  And  now  there  is 
nothing  but  the  cold  white  stars,  blinking 
like  Brujos'  eyes. 

At  last  there  only  remained  one  little 
morsel  of  sheep  meat.  Nearly  three- 
quarters  of  the  whole  flock  had  been 
rounded  up.  To  stay  here  was  to  starve. 
To-morrow  he  would  drive  them  south 
ward,  through  the  canon  into  the  Enci- 
nillas  Valley,  and  borrow  something  to 
eat  from  the  nearest  ranch  till  Tio  Juan 
came  back. 

There  was  nothing  to  pack  up  next 
morning.  The  frijol  pot,  his  gourd,  flint 
and  steel,  and  sling  were  all  his  Lares 
and  Penates.  The  last  bit  of  meat  had 
been  eaten  overnight;  and,  breakfastless, 
the  boy  at  dawn  headed  the  flock  towards 
the  canon.  They  were  not  accustomed  to 
feed  that  way,  and  gave  trouble;  the 
goats  especially,  racing  over  the  point  of 
rocks  and  turning  back  on  to  the  plain. 


240  Harper's  Novelettes 

At  last  a  steady  old  ewe  headed  up  the 
pass,  a  few  more  followed  her,  and  then 
the  mass  of  the  herd,  while  the  goats 
skirted  the  sides  of  the  canon,  jumping 
from  rock  to  rock. 

What  would  Tio  Juan,  say  if  he  came 
back  and  did  not  find  them  ?  'Twould  be 
best  to  leave  the  flock  at  the  head  of  the 
valley,  and  hurry  on  alone,  so  as  to  get 
back  to  camp,  if  possible,  next  evening. 

The  canon  closes  in,  and  the  gray  west 
ern  wall  lights  up  under  the  sun  in 
dazzling  whiteness.  What  is  that  black 
thing  at  the  head  of  the  pass,  hanging 
on  the  face  of  the  rock  ?  There  is  an  old 
dead  maguey-plant  in  a  crevice  just  over 
it  at  the  top  of  the  wall.  What  can  that 
black  thing  be?  Ho  creeps  nearer  and 
nearer.  Holy  Virgin !  It  is  a  man's  body 
tied  by  one  ankle  to  the  maguey,  and 
hanging  over  the  cliff.  Who  can  it  be? 
Nearer  and  nearer  he  crouches.  His 
heart  stops  beating.  That  old  sheepskin 
waist-cloth  he  knows  well.  Can  it  be? 
Yes,  it  is — my  God,  it  is! — Tio  Juan 
hanging  there  dead! 

With  a  wild  wailing  cry  the  boy  turned 
and  fled  down  the  pass  and  out  on  to  the 
wide  plain  northward,  without  an  idea  of 
where  he  was  going  in  his  grievous  hor 
ror,  till  the  project  at  last  began  shaping 


Tio  Juan  241 

itself  in  his  small  brain  to  reach  Ojo  Ca- 
liente,  and  get  the  people  there  to  come 
back  and  bury  Tio  Juan. 

From  the  miscellaneous  crowd  gath 
ered  round  the  sarape  at  Ojo  Caliente  an 
equally  motley  one  started  down  the  big 
road  southward  next  morning  to  find  the 
body  of  Tio  Juan,  under  command  of  old 
Bill  Irwin. 

The  canon  was  reached  by  evening; 
and  there,  sure  enough,  was  the  brown 
body  hanging,  ghastly,  against  the  white 
cliff.  A  couple  of  riatas  were  knotted 
together,  and  the  poor  corpse,  baked  and 
shrivelled  in  the  fierce  heat  of  that  oven- 
like  atmosphere,  was  passed  down  to  those 
below. 

'Twas  no  "  cattle  devil "  conceived  such 
a  death.  One  ankle,  cut  through  flesh 
and  sinew  to  the  very  bone,  sustaining 
the  whole  weight  of  the  body  by  the  raw 
hide  dangling  from  the  old  maguey- 
plant,  showed  it  had  been  suspended 
there  alive.  This  was  Apache  work.  Well 
did  they  know  his  trade-marks! 

It  was  turned  over  carefully,  nay,  rev 
erently  ;  and  then  the  mummy  form,  with 
eyeless  sockets  and  drawn  parchment- 
like  skin,  drained  of  blood  and  moisture, 
was  placed  under  a  pile  of  stones  by  the 


242  Harper's  Novelettes 

roadside,  surmounted  by  a  rude  cross, 
that  each  passing  Mexican  might  heap  a 
stone  and  say  an  "Ave"  over  the  grave 
of  Tio  Juan,  and  each  vaquero  might 
echo  the  words  of  Diamond  Brand  Bill 
as  he  musingly  turned  away: 

"  Trail     branded     for     the     kingdom 
come !" 


Jamie   the   Kid 

BY   JOSIAH  FLYNT 

IT  was  my  last  night  in  San  Francisco, 
and  I  could  not  leave  without  saying 
good-by  to  Old  Slim.  Plis  place  was 
almost  empty  when  I  strolled  in,  and  he 
was  standing  behind  his  greasy  bar 
counting  the  day's  winnings.  The  adios 
was  soon  said,  and  I  started  for  the  street 
again.  I  had  hardly  left  the  bar  when 
the  door  suddenly  squeaked  on  its  rick 
ety  hinges,  and  a  one-armed  man  came  in 
with  a  handsome  "  kid."  He  was  evi 
dently  dying  of  consumption,  and  as  he 
shuffled  clumsily  across  the  floor,  with  the 
boy  following  solemnly  at  his  heels,  I 
fancied  that  he  wanted  Slim  to  help  him 
into  a  hospital.  He  called  for  his  drinks, 
and  asked  Slim  if  he  knew  of  any  one 
"  bound  East "  the  next  day. 

"  W'y,  yes,"  Slim  replied ;  "  that  young 
feller  right  back  o'  ye  leaves  ter-morrer: 
ain't  that  right,  Cigarette?" 


244  Harper's  Novelettes 

The  man  turned  and  looked  at  me. 
Grabbing  my  hand,  he  exclaimed: 

"  Well,  I'll  be  jiggered !  Where  d'yu' 
come  from?  Don't  remember  me,  eh? 
W'y,  ye  little  beggar,  have  yu'  forgotten 
the  time  we  nearly  croaked  in  that  box 
car  jus'  out  of  Austin — have  yu'  forgot 
ten  that?"  and  he  pinched  my  fingers  as 
if  to  punish  me. 

I  scrutinized  him  closely,  trying  to 
trace  in  his  withered  and  sickened  face 
the  familiar  countenance  of  my  old 
friend  Denver  Red. 

"  Yes,  that's  right,  guy  me !"  he  retort 
ed,  nervously.  "I've  changed  a  little,  I 
know.  But  look  at  this  arm" — pushing 
back  his  sleeve  from  the  emaciated  hand 
— "that  crucifix  ain't  changed,  is  it? 
Now  d'yu'  know  me?" 

There  was  no  longer  any  reason  for 
doubt,  for  down  in  Texas  I  had  seen  New 
Orleans  Fatty  put  that  same  piece  on 
his  lonely  arm.  But  how  changed  he 
was !  The  last  time  we  met  he  was  one  of 
the  healthiest  hoboes  on  the  "  Santa  Fe," 
and  now  he  could  just  barely  move  about. 

"Why,  Red,"  I  asked,  "how  did  this 
happen?  You're  nearly  dead." 

"  Slcepin'  out  done  it,  I  guess,"  he  an 
swered,  hoarsely.  "Anyhow,  the  crocus* 
*  Doctor. 


Jamie  the  Kid  245 

says  so,  'n'  I  s'pose  he  knows.  Can't  get 
well,  neither.  Ben  all  over — Hot  Springs, 
Yellarstone,  Yosem'ty,  'n'  jus'  the  other 
day  come  up  from  Mex'co.  Cough  like 
a  horse  jus'  the  same.  But  say,  Cig, 
drink  out,  'n'  we'll  go  up  to  Jake's — 's  too 
public  here.  I've  got  a  lot  to  tell  yu',  'n' 
a  big  job  fer  yu',  too:  '11  yu'  come?  A' 
right.  So  long,  Slim;  I'll  be  in  agen 
ter-morrer." 

We  were  soon  seated  in  a  back  room 
at  Jake's.  The  boy  stretched  himself  on 
a  bench,  and  in  a  moment  was  asleep. 

"Purty  kid,  ain't  he?"  Red  said,  look 
ing  proudly  at  the  little  fellow. 

"An'  he's  a  perfect  bank,  too,  'f  yu' 
train  'im  right.  Yu'  oughto  seen  'im 
over  in  Sac*  the  other  day.  He  drove 
some  o'  them  Eastern  stiffs  nearly  wild 
with  the  way  he  throws  his  feet.  Give 
'im  good  weather  an'  a  lot  o'  women,  'n' 
he'll  batter  his  tenner  ev'ry  day.  They 
get  sort  o'  stuck  on  'im  somehow,  'n'  'fore 
they  know  it  they're  shellin'  out.  Quar 
ters  ev'ry  time,  too.  He  don't  take  no 
nickels — seems  to  hate  'em.  A  Los  An 
geles  woman  tried  him  once,  'n'  what 
d'yu'  think  he  did?  Told  'er  to  put  it  in 
an  orphan  'sylum.  Oh,  he's  cute,  bet  cher 

*  Sacramento. 


246  Harper's  Novelettes 

life.  But,  Cig,"  and  his  voice  dropped  to 
a  lower  pitch,  "  he's  homesick.  Think  of 
it,  will  yu',  a  hobo  kid  homesick!  Bawls 
like  the  devil  sometimes.  Wants  to  see 
his  ma — he's  only  twelve  V  a  half,  see? 
If  'e  was  a  homely  kid,  I'd  kick  'im.  If 
there's  en'thing  I  can't  stand,  it's  homely 
bawlin'  kids.  They  make  me  sick.  But 
yu'  can't  kick  him — he's  too  purty — ain't 
he?"  and  he  glanced  at  the  slumberer. 

"Yu'  pull  out  at  seven,  do  yu'?"  he 
asked,  after  a  pause. 

"  Well,  Cig,  I'm  mighty  glad  it's  you  I 
found  at  Slim's.  I  was  hopin'  I'd  meet 
some  bloke  I  knew,  but  I  feared  I 
wouldn't.  They're  mos'  all  dead,  I  guess. 
Bummin'  does  seem  to  kill  us  lads,  don't 
it?  Ev'ry  day  I  hear  o'  some  stiff  croakin' 
or  gettin'  ditched.  It's  a  holy  fright. 
Yer  bound  fer  York,  ain't  yu',  Cig? 
Well,  now,  see  here;  I've  got  an  errand 
feryu'.  What  d'yu' think 't  is?  Give  it 
'up,  I  s'pose  ?  Well,  yu'  see  that  kid  over 
there;  purty,  ain't  he?"  and  he  walked 
over  to  the  bench  and  looked  into  the 
lad's  face. 

"Pounds  his  ear*  like  a  baby,  don't 
he?"  and  he  passed  his  hand  delicately 
over  the  boy's  brow. 

*  Sleeps. 


Jamie  the  Kid  247 

"  Now,  Gig,"  lie  continued,  retuming 
to  his  seat,  "  I  want — you — to — take — 
this— kid— back— to— the— Horn.*  That's 
where  he  lives.  What  d'yu'  say?" 

There  was  only  one  thing  I  could  say. 
A  few  months  more  at  the  outside  and 
Red  would  be  gone,  and  it  was  probably 
the  last  favor  I  could  do  him  in  payment 
for  the  many  kindnesses  he  had  shown 
me  in  the  early  days. 

"If  en'thing  happens  to  7im,  Cig,  w'y, 
it's  got  to  happen,  I  s'pose;  but  he's  so 
dead  stuck  on  seein'  his  ma  that  I  guess 
he'll  be  purty  foxy.  I'd  take  'im  myself, 
but  I'm  'fraid  I  can't  pull  through.  It's 
a  tough  trip  'tween  here  V  Omaha,  V  I 
guess  he'll  be  safer  with  you.  I  hate  to 
let  'im  go  at  all,  but  the  devil  of  it  is  I 
'ain't  got  the  nerve  to  hang  on  to  him. 
Yu'  see,  I'm  goin'  to  croak  'fore  long — 
oh,  you  don't  need  to  snicker;  't's  a  fact. 
A  few  more  months  '11'  there'll  be  one  less 
hobo  lookin'  fer  set-downs.  Yes,  Cig, 
that's  straight.  But  that  ain't  the  only 
reason  I'm  sendin'  the  kid  home.  I 

*  The  Horn  is  a  triangular  extension  of 
the  Chicago,  Burlington,  and  Quincy  Rail 
way.  It  begins  at  Red  Oak,  Iowa,  and  runs 
southwest  from  there  for  about  twenty  miles, 
and  then  northwest  to  Pacific  Junction  for 
about  twenty  more. 


248  Harper's  Novelettes 


oughto  sent  'im  home  'bout  a  year  ago, 
V  I  said  I  would,  too,  'f  I  found  'im.  I 
lied,  didn't  I?  Ye-es,  sir,  'bout  twelve 
months  ago  I  told  his  mother  I'd  fetch 
'im  back  'f  I  collared  'im.  How's,  that 
fer  a  ghost-story,  eh?  Wouldn't  the 
blokes  laugh,  though,  if  they'd  hear  it? 
Denver  Red  takin'  a  kid  home!  Sounds 
funny,  don't  it?  But  that's  jus'  what  I 
said  I'd  do,  'n'  I  wasn't  drunk  nuther. 
Fill  up  yer  schooner,  Gig,  'n'  I'll  tell  yu' 
'bout  it." 

He  braced  himself  against  the  wall, 
hugged  his  knees,  and  told  me  what  fol 
lows. 

"Yu'  know  where  the  Horn  is  right 
'nough,  don't  yu'?  Well,  'bout  a  year  'n' 
a  half  ago  I  got  ditched  there  one  night 
in  a  little  town  not  far  from  the  main 
line.  'Twas  rainin'  like  the  devil,  V  I 
couldn't  find  an  l  empty '  anywheres. 
Then  I  tried  the  barns,  but  ev'ry  one  of 
'em  was  locked  tighter'n  a  penitentiary. 
That  made  me  horstile,  'n'  I  went  into 
the  main  street  an'  tackled  a  bloke  fer  a 
quarter.  He  wouldn't  give  me  none,  but 
'e  told  me  'f  I  wanted  a  lodgin'  that  a 
woman  called  College  Jane  'ud  take  me 
in.  Says  he:  '  Go  up  this  street  till  yu' 
strike  the  academy;  then  cross  the  field, 
'n'  purty  soon  yu'll  find  a  little  row  o' 


Jamie  the  Kid  249 

brown  houses,  V  in  No.  3  is  where  Jane 
lives.  Yu'  can't  miss  the  house,  'cause 
there's  a  queer  sign  hangin'  over  the 
front  door,  with  a  ball  o'  yarn  'n'  a  big 
needle  painted  on  it.  She  does  mendin'. 
I  guess  she'll  take  yu'  in.  She  always 
does,  anyhow.'  Course  I  didn't  know 
whether  he  was  lyin'  or  not — yu'  can 
never  trust  them  lioosiers — but  I  went 
up  jus'  the  same,  'n'  purty  soon,  sure 
'nough,  I  struck  the  house.  I  knocked, 
'n'  in  a  minnit  I  heerd  some  one  sayin', 
'  Is  that  you,  Jamie  ?'  Course  that  wasn't 
my  name,  but  I  thought  like  lightniii',  V 
made  up  my  mind  that  'twas  my  name  in 
the  rain,  anyhow.  So  I  says  in  a  kid's 
voice, '  Yes,  it's  Jamie.'  The  door  opened, 
'11'  there  was  one  o'  the  peartest  little 
women  y'ever  see. 

"'Oh,  I  thought  yu'  wasn't  Jamie,' 
she  says.  (  Come  in — come  in.  Yu'  must 
be  wet.' 

"  I  felt  sort  o'  sheepish,  but  went  in, 
?n'  she  set  me  down  in  the  dinin'-room. 
Then  I  told  'er  a  story.  One  o'  the  best 
I  ever  told,  I  guess — made  'er  eyes  run, 
anyhow.  An'  she  fed  me  with  more  pie 
'n'  cake  than  I  ever  had  in  my  life.  Re 
minded  me  o'  the  time  we  thought  we 
was  drunk  on  apple  pie  in  New  England. 
Well,  then  she  told  me  her  story. 
17 


250  Harper's  Novelettes 

'Twa'n't  much,  but  somehow  I  'ain't  for 
gotten  it  yet.  Yu'  see,  she  come  from  the 
soil,  'n'  her  man  was  a  carpenter.  After 
they'd  ben  West  'bout  six  years  he  up 
V  died,  leavin'  her  a  little  house  V  a 
kid.  She  called  'im  Jamie.  Course  she 
had  to  live  somehow,  'n'  purty  soon  she 
got  a  job  mendin'  fer  the  'cademy  lads, 
'n'  she  boarded  some  of  'em.  That's  the 
way  she  got  her  monikey.*  See?  Well, 
things  went  along  purty  well,  '11'  she  was 
spectin'  to  put  the  kid  in  the  'cademy 
'fore  long.  He-e-e  didn't  like  books  very 
well — hung  around  the  station  mos'  the 
time.  Sort  o'  stuck  on  the  trains,  I 
s'pose.  Lots  o'  kids  like  that,  yu'  know. 
Well,  to  wind  up  the  business,  one  night 
when  he  was  'bout  'leven  year  old  be 
sloped.  Some  bloke  snared  'im,  prob'ly, 
an'  ever  since  she's  ben  waitin'  'n'  wait- 
in'  fer  'im  to  come  back.  An'  ev'ry  night 
she  fixes  up  his  bed,  'n'  'f  anybody  knocks 
she  always  asks,  'Is  that  you,  Jamie?' 
Eunny,  ain't  it?  Well,  somehow  the 
bums  got  on  to  'er,  'n'  ever  since  the  kid 
mooched  she's  ben  entertaining  'em. 
Gives  them  his  room  ev'ry  time.  An'  she 
always  asks  'em  'f  they  know  where  he  is. 
She  asked  me  too,  'n'  made  me  promise  'f 

*  Nickname. 


Jamie  the  Kid  251 

I  found  'im  that  I'd  send  'im  home. 
Course  I  never  expected  to  see  'im,  but 
I  had  to  say  somethin'. 

"  Well,  sir,  six  months  afterward  I  was 
sittin'  in  Sal's  place  in  K.  C.*  when  who 
should  come  in  but  New  York  Barcas. 
He  called  me  out,  V  says,  <Ked,  wanto 
buy  a  kid?'  As  it  happened,  I  did  want 
one,  so  I  asked  'im  how  much  'e  wanted. 
He  took  me  over  to  a  joint  V  showed 
me  that  kid  over  there  on  that  bench. 
'  Give  yu'  a  sinker,'  I  said.  He  was  satis 
fied,  'n'  I  took  the  kid. 

"  Well,  sir,  as  luck  would  have  it,  'bout 
a  week  later  the  kid  got  so  stuck  on  me 
that  he  told  me  his  story.  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do.  He  didn't  wanto  go  home, 
'n'  I  didn't  want  'im  to.  Course  I  didn't 
tell  'im  nothin'  'bout  seein'  his  ma — that 
?ud  'a'  spoiled  ev'rything.  Well,  I  didn't 
say  nothin'  more  about  it,  'n'  we  come 
,  out  here.  I've  had  'im  now  fer  'bout  a 
'  year,  'n'  I've  trained  'im  dead  fine.  W'y, 
Cig,  he's  the  best  kid  on  the  coast.  Yes, 
he  is — but,  as  I've  ben  tellin'  yu',  he's 
homesick,  'n'  I've  got  to  get  'im  back  to 
the  Horn.  I'm  'fraid  he  won't  stay  there. 
He's  seen  too  much  o'  the  road;  but  I'll 
croak  jus'  a  little  bit  easier  from  knowin' 

*  Kansas  City. 


2  52  Harper's  Novelettes 

that  I  sent  'im  back.  I'd  like  it  if  he'd 
stay,  too;  'cause,  to  'fess  up,  Gig,  I  ain't 
very  proud  o'  this  bummin',  'n'  '£  'e  keeps 
at  it  he'll  be  jus'  like  me  'fore  long.  So 
when  he  wakes  up  I'm  goin'  to  lecture 
?im,  'n'  I  don't  want  you  to  laugh.  May 
help,  you  know;  can't  tell." 

Two  hours  later  we  were  in  the  rail 
way  yards  waiting  for  my  train  to  be 
made  up.  There  were  still  about  fifteen 
minutes  left,  and  Red  was  lecturing  the 
kid. 

"  See  here,  kid,"  I  heard  him  saying, 
"what's  yu'  learnt  since  I've  had  yu' — 
en'thing?" 

"  Bet  cher  life  I  has,"  the  little  fellow 
returned,  with  an  assumed  dignity  that 
made  even  Red  smile. 

"  Well,  how  much  ?  Rattle  it  off  now, 
quick !" 

The  boy  began  to  count  on  his  fin 
gers: 

"Batterin',  one;  sloppin'  up,  two; 
three-card  trick,  three;  an' — an' — that 
song  'n'  dance,  four — four;  an' — an'  en- 
halin'  cig'rettes,  five — five — "  Here  he 
stopped  and  asked  if  he  should  take  the 
next  hand. 

"Yes,  go  on;  let's  have  the  hull  of 
it." 

"  Well,  then,  I  knows  that  cuss-word 


Jamie  the  Kid  253 

you  taught  me — that  long  one,  you  know 
—that's  six,  ain't  it?  Oh  yes,  V  I  knows 
that  other  cuss-word  that  that  parson 
told  us  was  never  forgiven — remember, 
don't  you?  Well,  that's  seven — seven.  I 
guess  that's  about  all — jus'  an  even 
seven." 

"Ye  sure  that's  all,  kid?" 

"  Well,  darn  it,  Eed,  ain't  that  enough 
fer  a  prushun?  You  don't  know  much 
more  yerself — 110,  you  don't,  V  you  's 
three  times  old  's  I  am."  And  he  began 
to  pout. 

"  Now,  kid,  d'yu'  know  what  I  wants 
yu'todo?" 

"Bet  cher  life  I  do!  'Ain'  cher  ben 
tellin'  me  fer  the  las'  year?  You  wants 
me  to  be  a  blowed-in-the-glass  stiff. 
Ain't  them  the  words  ?" 

"  No,  kid.  I've  changed  my  mind.  Ye 
goin'  home  now,  ain'  cher?" 

"  Jus'  fer  a  little  while.  I'm  comin.' 
back  to  you,  ain't  I?" 

"  No,  yu'  ain't,  kid.  Yer  goin'  home 
fer  good.  Cigarette's  goin'  to  take  yu', 
V  yu'  mustn't  come  back.  Listenin'?" 

"  Say,  Eed,  has  you  gone  bughouse  ?  I 
never  heerd  you  talk  like  that  in  my 
life." 

"  See  here,  kid,"  and  there  was  a  firmer 
tone  in  his  voice,  "we  ain't  foolin'  now 


254  Harper's  Novelettes 

— understan'  ?  An'  in  about  five  minutes 
ye'll  be  gone.  Now  I  wants  yu'  to  prom 
ise  tbat  ye'll  ferget  ev'ry  darn  thing  I've 
taught  yu'.  Listenin'?" 

The  kid  was  gazing  down  the  track. 

"Listenin'?"  Red  cried  again. 

The  kid  turned  and  looked  at  him. 
"Can't  I  enhale  cig'rettes  any  more? 
Has  I  got  to  ferget  them  too  ?" 

"Well,  kid,  yu'  Un  tell  yer  mother 
that  I  says  yu'  kin  do  that— but  that's 
all.  Now  '11  yu'  promise?" 

"Gosh,  Red,  it  '11  be  hard  work!" 

"  Can't  help  it— yu'  got  to  do  it.  Yu' 
don't  wanto  be  like  me.  Yu'  wanto  be 
somethin'  dead  fine — 'spectable." 

"Am'  chew  somethin'  dead  fine?  I 
heerd  Frisco  Shorty  say  oncet  you  was 
the  fliest  bloke  in  yer  line  west  o'  Den 


ver." 


"Yu'  don't  understan',  kid,"  and  he 
stamped  his  foot.  "I  mean  like  yer 
mother.  Listenin'?  Well,  '11  yu'  prom 
ise?" 

The  kid  nodded  his  head,  but  there  was 
a  surprise  in  his  eyes  which  he  could  not 
conceal. 

The  train  was  at  last  ready,  and  we 
had  to  be  quick. 

"  Well,  Cig,  so  long ;  take  care  o'  yer- 
self.  Be  good  to  the  kid." 


Jamie  the  Kid  255 

Then  lie  turned  to  the  boy.  It  was 
the  tenderest  good-by  I  have  ever  seen 
'tween  a  "prushun"  and  his  "jocker." 
A  kiss — a  gentle  stroke  on  his  shoul 
der — ancl  he  helped  him  climb  into  the 
box-car. 

The  last  we  saw  of  Ked,  as  we  stood  at 
the  door  while  the  engine  puffed  slowly 
out  of  the  yards,  he  was  standing  on  a 
pile  of  ties  waving  his  hat.  Six  months 
afterward  I  was  told  in  the  Bowery  that 
he  was  dead. 

The  journey  to  the  Horn  was  full  of 
incident.  For  six  long  days  and  nights 
we  railroaded  and  railroaded,  sometimes 
on  the  trucks  and  the  blind  baggage,  and 
again  lying  flat  on  top,  dodging  the  cin 
ders  as  they  whizzed  about  our  heads, 
and  the  brakeman  as  he  came  skipping 
over  the  cars  to  tax  us  for  the  ride.  It 
was  hard  work,  and  dangerous  too,  at 
times,  but  the  kid  never  whimpered. 
Once  he  wanted  to,  I  thought,  when  a 
conductor  kicked  him  off  the  caboose,  but 
he  faked  a  professional  little  laugh  in 
place  of  it.  And  he  also  looked  rather 
frightened  one  night  when  he  nearly  lost 
his  grip  climbing  up  the  ladder  of  a 
cattle-car,  but  he  was  afterward  so 
ashamed  that  it  was  almost  pitiful.  He 
was  the  "  nerviest "  child  I  ever  travelled 


256  Harper's  Novelettes 

with.  Even  on  the  trucks,  where  old  na 
tives  sometimes  feel  squeamish,  he  dis 
guised  his  fear.  But  he  was  at  his  best 
at  meal-time.  Regularly  he  would  plant 
himself  before  me  in  waiter  fashion,  and 
say: 

"  Well,  Cig'rette,  what's  it  to  be?  Beef 
steak  V  taters  V  a  little  pic— '11  that 
do?" 

Or  if  he  thought  I  was  not  having 
enough  variety  he  would  suggest  a  more 
delicate  dish. 

"How'll  a  piece  o'  chicken  taste,  eh?" 
And  the  least  eagerness  on  my  part  sent 
him  off  to  find  it.  It  was  not,  however, 
an  entirely  one-sided  affair,  for  I  was  in 
his  service  also.  I  had  to  protect  him 
from  all  the  hoboes  we  met,  and  some 
times  it  was  not  so  easy  as  one  might 
think.  He  was  so  handsome  and  clever 
that  it  was  a  temptation  to  any  tramp  to 
"snare"  him  if  he  could,  and  several 
wanted  to  buy  him  outright. 

"I'll  give  ye  five  balls  fer  ?im,"  one 
old  fellow  told  me,  and  others  offered 
smaller  sums.  A  Southern  roadster  tried 
to  get  him  free  of  cost,  and  the  tales  he 
told  him  and  the  way  he  told  them  would 
have  done  honor  to  a  professional  story 
teller.  Luckily  for  me,  the  kid  was  con 
siderably  smarter  than  the  average  boy 


Jamie  the  Kid  257 

on  the  road,  and  lie  had  also  had  much 
experience. 

"  They's  got  to  tell  better  short  stories 
than  them  'fore  they  get  me!"  he  ex 
claimed,  proudly,  after  several  men  had 
tried  their  influence  on  him.  "  I'm  jus' 
as  cute  as  they  is,  ain't  I?  I  know  what 
they  wants — they  think  I'm  a  purty  good 
moocher,  V  they'll  make  sinkers  out  o' 
me.  Ain't  that  it  ?" 

None  the  less,  I  almost  lost  him  one 
night,  but  it  was  not  his  fault.  We  were 
nearing  Salt  Lake  City  at  the  time,  and 
a  big  burly  negro  was  riding  in  our  car. 
We  were  both  sleepy,  and  although  I  re 
alized  that  it  was  dangerous  to  close  my 
eyes  with  the  stranger  so  near,  I  could 
not  help  it,  and  erelong  the  kid  and  I 
were  dozing.  The  next  thing  I  knew  the 
train  was  slowing  up,  and  the  kid  was 
screaming  wildly,  and  struggling  in  the 
arms  of  the  negro  as  he  jumped  to  the 
ground.  I  followed,  and  had  hardly 
reached  the  track  when  I  was  greeted 
with  these  words :  "  Shut  up,  or  I'll  t'row 
de  kid  under  de  wheels." 

The  man  looked  mean  enough  to  do  it ; 
but  I  saw  that  the  kid  had  grabbed  him 
savagely  around  the  neck,  and,  feeling 
sure  that  he  would  not  dare  to  risk  his 
own  life,  I  closed  with  him.  It  was  a 


258  Harper's  Novelettes 

fierce  tussle,  and  the  trainmen,  as  they 
looked  down  from  the  cars  and  flashed 
their  lanterns  over  the  scene,  cheered  and 
jeered. 

"  Sick  'em !"  I  heard  them  crying.  "  Go 
it,  kid— go  it !" 

Our  train  had  almost  passed  us,  and 
the  conductor  was  standing  on  the  ca 
boose,  taking  a  last  look  at  the  fight. 
Suddenly  he  bawled  out: 

"Look  out,  lads!  the  express  's 
comin' !" 

We  were  standing  on  the  track,  and 
the  negro  jumped  to  the  ditch.  I  snatch 
ed  the  kid  from  the  ground  and  ran  for 
the  caboose.  As  we  tumbled  on  to  the 
steps  the  "  con  "  laughed. 

"  Didn't  I  do  that  well  ?"  he  said. 

I  looked  up  the  track,  and,  lo  and  be 
hold,  there  was  no  express  to  be  seen.  It 
was  one  of  the  kind  deeds  which  railway 
men  are  continually  doing  for  knights 
of  the  road. 

As  we  approached  the  Horn  the  kid 
became  rather  serious.  The  first  symp 
tom  I  noticed  was  early  one  morning 
while  he  was  practising  his  beloved  "song 
'n'  dance."  He  had  been  shaking  his  feet 
for  some  time,  and  at  last  broke  out  lust 
ily  into  a  song  I  had  often  heard  sung 
by  Jolly  crowds  at  the  "  hang-out " : 


Jamie  the  Kid  259 

"  Oli,  me  an'  three  bums, 
Three  jolly  old  bums, 

We  live  like  royal  Turks. 
We  have  good  luck 
In  bumming  our  chuck. 

To  hell  with  the  man  that  works!" 

After  each  effort,  if  perchance  there 
had  been  one  "  big  sound "  at  all  like 
Bed's,  he  chuckled  to  himself:  "Oh,  I'm 
a-gettin'  it,  bet  cher  life!  Gosh!  I  wish 
Eed  was  here!"  And  then  he  would  try 
again.  This  went  on  for  about  half  an 
hour,  and  he  at  last  struck  a  note  that 
pleased  him  immensely.  He  was  just  go 
ing  to  repeat  it,  and  had  his  little  mouth 
perked  accordingly,  when  something 
stopped  him,  and  he  stared  at  the  floor  as 
if  he  had  lost  a  dime.  He  stood  there 
silently,  and  I  wondered  what  the  matter 
could  be.  I  was  on  the  point  of  speaking 
to  him,  when  he  walked  over  to  the  door 
and  looked  out  at  the  telegraph  poles. 
Pretty  soon  he  returned  to  the  corner 
where  I  was  reading,  and  settled  down 
seriously  at  my  side.  In  a  few  moments 
he  was  again  at  the  door.  He  had  been 
standing  in  a  musing  way  for  some  time, 
when  I  saw  him  reach  into  his  inside 
coat  pocket  and  bring  out  the  tattered 
bits  of  pasteboard  with  which  he  did  his 
three-card  trick.  Unfolding  the  packet, 


260  Harper's  Novelettes 

he  threw  the  paper  on  the  track,  and 
then  fingered  over  each  card  separately. 
Four  times  he  pawed  them  over,  going 
reluctantly  from  one  to  the  other.  Then, 
and  before  I  could  fancy  what  he  was 
up  to,  he  tossed  them  lightly  into  the  air, 
and  followed  them  with  his  eye  as  the 
wind  sent  them  flying  against  the  cars. 
When  he  turned  around,  his  hands  were 
shaking  and  his  face  was  pale.  I  cruel 
ly  pretended  not  to  notice,  and  asked 
him  carelessly  what  was  the  matter.  lie 
took  another  look  at  the  world  outside, 
as  if  to  see  where  the  cards  had  gone, 
and  then  came  over  to  the  corner  again. 
Putting  his  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets, 
and  taking  a  long  draw  at  his  cigarette, 
he  said,  the  smoke  pouring  out  of  his 
nostrils,  "I'm  tryin'  to  reform." 

He  looked  so  solemn  that  I  did  not 
dare  to  laugh,  but  it  was  all  I  could  do 
to  keep  from  it. 

"D'ye  think  I'll  make  it  go?"  he  asked, 
after  a  pause,  during  which  his  feet  had 
tried  to  tempt  him  from  his  good  resolu 
tion,  and  had  almost  led  him  into  the  for 
bidden  dance.  Almost  every  hour  from 
that  time  on  he  asked  that  same  question, 
and  sometimes  the  childish  pathos  that 
he  threw  into  his  voice  and  manner  would 
have  unmanned  an  old  stager. 


Jamie  the  Kid  261 

The  last  day  of  our  journey  we  had  a 
long  talk.  He  was  still  trying  to  reform, 
but  he  had  come  to  certain  conclusions, 
and  one  of  them  was  that  he  could  not 
go  to  school  any  more ;  or,  what  was  more 
to  the  point,  that  he  did  not  see  the  need 
of  it. 

"  Course  I  don't  know  everything,"  he 
explained,  "  but  I  knows  a  lot.  Wy,  I 
kin  beat  Red  figgerin'  a'ready,  an'  I  kin 
read  things  he  can't,  too.  Lots  o'  words 
he  don't  know  't  I  does;  an'  when  he's 
drunk  he  can't  read  at  all,  but  I  kin. 
You  oughto  seen  us  in  Cheyenne,  Cig." 
And  the  reminiscence  made  him  chuckle. 
"  We  was  both  jagged,  'n'  the  copper 
served  a  paper  on  us,  'n  I  had  to  read  U 
to  Red.  Ain't  that  purty  good?  Red 
said  'twas,  anyhow,  '11'  he  oughto  know, 
oughtn't  he?  No,  I  don't  think  I  need 
much  schoolin'.  I  don't  wanto  be  Presi 
dent  of  the  country;  'f  I  did,  p'r'aps  I 
oughto  know  some  more  words;  but  see- 
in's  I  don't,  I  can't  see  the  use  o'  diggin' 
in  readers  all  the  while.  I  wish  Red  had 
given  me  a  letter  'bout  that,  'cause  ma 
?n'  I'll  get  to  fightm'  'bout  it  dead  sure. 
You  see,  she's  stuck  on  puttin'  me  tru 
the  'cademy,  'n'  I'm  stuck  on  keepin'  out 
of  it,  'n'  'f  we  get  to  scrappin'  agen  I'm 
afraid  I  won't  reform.  She'll  kick  'bout 


262  Harper's  Novelettes 

my  smokin',  too;  but  I've  got  her  there, 
ain't  I?  Red  said  I  could  smoke,  didn't 
'e— h'm?  Tell  ye  what  I  guess  I'll  do, 
Gig.  Jus'  after  I've  kissed  'er  I'll  tell 
'er  right  on  the  spot  jus'  what  I  kin  do. 
Won't  that  be  a  good  scheme?  Then, 
you  see,  she  can't  jaw  'bout  my  not  bein' 
square,  can  she  ?  Yes,  sir,  that's  jus'  what 
I'll  do."  And  he  rubbed  his  tattooed 
hands  as  if  he  had  made  a  good  bargain. 

The  next  morning,  just  as  the  sun  was 
rising  over  the  prairie  -  line,  our  train 
switched  off  the  main  road,  and  we  were 
at  last  rolling  along  over  the  Horn.  The 
kid  stood  by  the  door  and  pointed  out  the 
landmarks  that  he  remembered.  Erelong 
he  espied  the  open  belfry  of  the  academy. 

"  See  that  cup'la,  Gig  ?"  he  cried.  "  Dad 
helped  to  build  that,  but  ?e  croaked  doin' 
it.  Some  people  says  that  he  was  jagged, 
'cause  he  tumbled.  Ma  says  the  sun 
struck  'im." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  train  stopped 
at  the  watering-tank,  and  my  errand  was 
done.  There  was  no  need  to  "  jocker " 
the  boy  any  longer.  His  welfare  depend 
ed  upon  his  mother  and  his  determi 
nation  to  reform.  He  kissed  me  good- 
by,  and  then  marched  manfully  up  the 
silent  street  toward  the  academy.  I 
watched  him  till  the  train  pulled  out. 


Jamie  the  Kid  263 

Thus  ended  one  of  the  hardest  trips  of 
my  life  in  Hobo-land. 

One  warm  summer  evening,  about 
three  years  after  leaving  the  Horn,  I  was 
sitting  in  a  music-hall  in  the  Bowery.  I 
had  long  since  given  up  my  membership 
in  the  hobo  fraternity,  but  I  liked  to 
stroll  about  now  and  then  and  visit  the 
old  resorts.  And  it  was  while  on  such  an 
excursion  that  I  drifted  into  the  variety 
show.  I  watched  the  people  as  they 
came  and  went,  hoping  to  recognize  some 
old  acquaintance.  I  had  often  had  odd 
experiences  and  renewal  of  friendships 
under  similar  circumstances,  and  as  I 
sat  there  I  wondered  who  it  would  be 
that  I  should  meet  that  night.  The 
thought  had  hardly  recorded  itself  when 
some  one  grabbed  my  shoulder  in  police 
man  style,  and  said,  "  Shake !"  I  looked 
around,  and  found  one  of  the  burliest 
rowdies  in  the  room.  He  turned  out  to 
be  a  pal  that  I  had  known  on  the  New 
York  Central,  and,  as  usual,  I  had  to  go 
over  my  remembrances.  He  also  had 
yarns  to  spin,  and  he  brought  them  so  up 
to  date  that  I  learned  he  was  just  free  of 
a  Virginia  jail.  Then  began  a  tirade 
against  Southern  prisons.  As  he  was 
finishing  it  he  happened  to  remember 


264  Harper's  Novelettes 

that  he  had  met  a  friend  of  mine  in  the 
Virginian  limbo.  "  Said  'e  knew  ye  well, 
Cig,  but  I  couldn't  place  'im.  Little 
feller;  somethin'  of  a  kid,  I  guess;  up 
fer  thirty  days.  One  o'  the  blokes  called 
'im  the  Horn  kid,  V  said  'e  use  to  be  a 
fly  prushun  out  in  the  coast  country.  Ole 
Denver  Ked  trained  'im,  he  said.  Who 
is  he?  d'ye  know  ?im?  He  was  a  nice 
little  feller.  Why,  what's  wrong,  Gig? 
Ye  look  spilled." 

I  probably  did.  It  was  such  a  disap 
pointment  as  I  had  hardly  imagined. 
Poor  kid!  He  probably  did  so  well  that 
his  mother  tried  to  put  him  into  the 
academy,  and  then  he  "  sloped "  once 
more.  I  told  the  tramp  the  tale  I  have 
just  finished.  He  was  too  obtuse  to  see 
the  pathetic  side  of  it,  but  one  of  his 
comments  is  worth  repeating: 

"  Ye  can't  do  nothin'  with  them  kids, 
Cig.  After  they's  turfed  it  a  bit  they're 
gone.  Better  let  'em  alone." 

But  I  cannot  believe  that  that  kind- 
hearted  little  fellow  is  really  gone.  Who 
ever  meets  him  now,  policeman  or  phi 
lanthropist,  pray  send  him  back  to  the 
Horn  again. 


THE  END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


:C  i  1947 


16Dec'52jr 


LD  21-100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 


YB 


X 


u. 


